Page 141 - RIVISTA NOIQUI GIUGNO 2021

KANSAS, OLD ABANDONED HOUSE (V4) DEATH CERTIFICATES

By Michael Lee Johnson By Michael Lee Johnson

House, weathered, bashed in grays, spiders, We all wait for our death cer-
homespun surrounding yellows and pinks tificates—
on a Kansas, prairie appears lonely tonight. aging bodies, sagging arms,
The human theater lives once lived here necks with wrinkles.
inside are gone now, We drag our bodies around
buried in the back, dark trail shopping malls
behind that old outhouse. in all shapes, funny forms,
Old wood chipper in the shed, rustic, worn, walk
no gas, no thunder, no sound. around in tennis shoes early
Remember the old coal bin, now open to the wind, mornings.
but no one left to shovel the coal. Don’t stretch out here too far.
Pumpkin patches, corn mazes, hayrides all gone. Just get our groceries, see our
Deserted ghostly children still swing abandoned in grandchildren,
the prairie wind. Lucky Charms, no witchcraft,
All unheated rooms no longer have children but Jesus
to fret about, cheerleaders have long gone, finds our way home.
the banal house chills once again, it is winter,
three lone skinny crows perched out of sight
on barren branched trees silhouetted in early mor-
ning
hints of pink, those blues, wait with hunger strikes
as winter
that snow starts to settle in against moonlight skies.
Kansas becomes a quiet place when those first
snowfalls.
There is the dancing of the crows−
that lonely wind, that creaking of the doors, no oil
in the joints.

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