Fields

A pair of glasses sits covered in
thin salt, knocked into the air
by shoes on the concrete.
The fields are all way behind this year,
and the scarecrows are left
with nothing to preside over.

Lines of cars pour across state
lines to buy legal fireworks to
detonate where it is most
certainly illegal. Just as
others drive from Boston
to Connecticut with ounces
of weed layered in bags under
their dust covered seats.

Unrelenting defiance done repeatedly
in spite of the resistance.
Making martyrs out of the downtrodden
again, without the banners and the one
below them.

She found her way to him with a map
consisting only of the layout of an aquarium
in Utah, and his house was all the way in the
Appalachians. He was waiting for her as she
made her way over the top of the hill at the
end of his street. She had her hair all stuffed
inside of a baseball cap.