Where Scarecrows End
by Steve Tanham
On a day of scarecrows The little patch of oil, beneath your sump Called to me To put aside Wray’s springtime pride And ride my early miles, again. ➰ Where teenage fingers Cold or burned, begged broken thread To mend and seal The engine’s heated flow And let the boy get home ➰ And sliding frozen rump From frozen saddle, fingers stiff To feed … Read More Where Scarecrows End
Sun in Gemini 