The Wake

Shook evenly, the burst of petrol

nostrils of children racing

eyes on the back of the back of the back

of the pick-me-up dirt clouds

one shiver one shoulder

I see the grave digging grace of the ambulance chase

On these wounded hills—spider-like

skeletons mashed together from the butt

of rubber heels and dirty paws

of that bobcat wandering.

Sing praise to beaten one

limping around the dirt

an orgasmic coma shot

as machine lies still on back

wheels lulling a spin

spin,

spin.