An Old Man Watches the Farmer Break
A New Friend, Nick Lachance
I couldn’t help but watch from the deck.
The day unrolling properly.
The earth still pushing the grass from it’s skin, so
the blades stood tall as the neighbour’s mower cut them down.
I checked my reflection in the window- so not
to lose track of myself- and
repositioned my glasses,
catching sight of the police.
They pulled into the driveway of the house across the road from ours,
looking for a boy,
the one who won last night’s bar fight.
His father in the field with clear sight of home,
brought his tractor near.
And when they took the boy out from his house,
he was as graceful as a butterfly: an overgrown larva,
staggering through the country air.