Thomas Gillaspy   © 2014 All Rights Reserved

Farmington: August


Late afternoon. Moonrise and the shadows of the mesas begin to hem us in.

Behind the shed row, an electric motor hums and slow-turning arms of a hot walker around their squeaking axle clack and clank. At the end of a shank, rank, on the muscle, blowing like a steam engine, a black-type colt, his eyes wide and wild, lunges and bucks then sucks back and plants his feet, stops dead in his tracks. Five empty arms bounce and bang, loud as a train wreck. His neck stretched, hindquarters braced, he strains against the halter. The motor and its traction belts complain. The young horse, vicious, high-strung, suddenly falters, squeals like a scalded cat, cowkicks at nothing then moves off, shaking his head, his ears pinned flat. Whirling in the gathering dusk, he raises Cain— strikes or kicks with every stride—his light heels capering, presenting his brave résume.

This moment has something to do with us though if we are ready for it, neither you nor I can say.

New Mexico day-moon

all the fittings and fixtures
of things to come.




Jeff Streeby
Copyright © 2014  

Jeff Streeby earned his MFA from Gerald Stern’s program at New England College in New Hampshire. His poetry has appeared in Ginosko, Southwest American Literature, Los Angeles Review, Rattle, Haibun Today, Contemporary Haibun Online, and many others. He is a Senior Lecturer in English at Assumption University in Bangkok, Thailand.


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