C. William Applegate

Seemingly from where sky meets land,
room fills with fresh scent of dandelion greens.
It is only a whisper, heard nonetheless.
“Billy, have you seen your brother Harold?”
Claude to Roger across the table,
“No Lulah, I haven’t seen Harold since yesterday.”
A second stretches to thirty.
Dandelion smells losing to mingling cigarette smoke.
Thirty seconds stretches to sixty.
Fresh catfish in the bucket, backyard.
Dottie sitting on a rock, waits.
Three yards and a cloud of dust.
Unyielding, Roger answers,
“The Union won’t settle for a nickel less an hour.”
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again,
“The Union won’t settle for a nickel less an hour.”