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A Harvest

Pinckneyville, IL

EVAN WILLIAMS

I eat beef—only

if it’s bourguignon—no

less than the best to snap me out of my neanderthal

veganism I’d settle for

some seitan screwball squirrel

atop chickpea children maybe

kidney shaped candies composed of ground up peach

fuzz or some tempeh

tiny Tim trophy sweetened with ten buck coconut-fur-

sugar I am a neon-bikini hunter up in the tree stand

admiring an ivory-hued tower through a scope

on a rifle made by Hasbro firing bullets made of balloons

current corpse count: zero and standing

still if I am merely to holler bang

might as well look to

kill a freaky-freekeh-fanatic-flamingo oh flesh farmer

brother where art thou skinny

jeans and sensible shoes

oh brother haven’t you heard

camo is not yet back in vogue: here

is man as man was designed to be

the one who fears meat-eaters and meteor dust in his scars is

me the real backwoods biddy

singing some showtune ditty oh please

ain’t I pretty like Snow White like Alice or her kitty or Gretel

who left home and grew past sibling sinew stew size

I sleep in sheets of leaves and live on

the nutrients of the soil’s pity take root a petunia begonia

forget me not I have a rifle

made by Hasbro and bullets

made of balloons I am

bound to your cadaver city.