Poetry of Kansas
 

1942


Standing.
Close enough to feel
the fresh turned gravel
through my thin-soled shoes.
No fake grass to obscure
the reality of that bare hole.
 
Rifles popped and echoed.
A far away bugle gave us
the saddest of all Amens,
which chilled and chilled.
 
My father shuddered
and pulled me close.
 
Embarrassed and ashamed for him,
I watched tear drops leave his eyes
to fall on that ground
which was only beginning to show
its insatiable hunger
for the young men of our town.

__Max Yoho.

Felicia, These Fish Are Delicious
Max Yoho
(Topeka: Dancing Goat Press. 2004)
Page 39

 
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June 6, 2005 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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