Читать книгу Broom Broom - Brecken Hancock - Страница 13

Dark where Dad chops a hole.

Tunk. Dark hair blighted

by snow bees, his axe

trepanning the tarn’s top.

Beneath what’s frozen

slighted bodies blob up

from the din. Kraken, Leviathan,

the pail in my hand’s a cauterized

aluminum stump.

Heave-ho to make the lake

gawp up at us. Heave again

to plunge the bucket

benthic deep.

Leave down the glum machine

(my arm-and-pail rocking-horse rig).

Winter’s everywhere profusion.

Huddle over its sink:

head congested, festooned

with weeds. Mother is nuts.

The mind’s an organ

of slush. Ahusha.

His axe can’t cleave

this confusion.