Trash Burning, 1976
by John Riley
This time the bag's bigger
than the boy and the door.
He squeezes and spins
across the brown yard
dragging the boxes,
the cans, the chicken bones.
We watch as he tosses
the last of his chore
on the dead ash
heap. Right now he sees
above the tree line
a silo deep in the winter
mist waver like the heat
over the matchhead's
flicker—he shivers
when a cardboard lady
folds her cold smile
into the new flame.
than the boy and the door.
He squeezes and spins
across the brown yard
dragging the boxes,
the cans, the chicken bones.
We watch as he tosses
the last of his chore
on the dead ash
heap. Right now he sees
above the tree line
a silo deep in the winter
mist waver like the heat
over the matchhead's
flicker—he shivers
when a cardboard lady
folds her cold smile
into the new flame.
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Author's Note
This is one of my oldest poems. The first draft was written decades ago. This version was published a few years back but don't remember where. Maybe The Meadowland Review. It no longer googles.
Other stories by John Riley
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A lovely constraint.
I LOVE the last stanza, great closing. **
Like a lucid dream. And that last stanza, yes. *
Lovely image.*
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*, John. More of your fine work.
Thanks guys
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the cardboard lady folds her cold smile into the new flame. Yes.
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Thanks, Meg and Paul and Rene.
Missed this first time around. Glad I found it!
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