That was Sweeney on the swing,
singing
Rheingold and martyrs
the specks in little girl's eye
that gives father the urge to cry,
though you couldn't tell from the red suspenders
and his crooked smile, or
the lies he had piled out by the fencepost
where the wires led south and north at the same time.
"Hey, kid" he'd say when I went by,
"you got a smoke?"
and I'd give him my last one,
and a light. I was always going
by the house late at night
hoping for a last look
and I figured I owed him one.
I hadn't been back in a while.
I thought maybe that was him
bent over the grinding wheel
mumbling to himself
it looked like the knife had been sharp
since apple picking time
but I didn't stop to talk,
I was saving my words
and the flowers I had bought
for the long walk
down the fence line
where the world split
north and south
ages ago in a little girl's eye.
Silver trophy winner
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