IN PATIENT SPADEFOOT TORPOR, PERHAPS LISTENING
he waits, for he is a spadefoot. And as surely as men ride in the beds of pickups holding shovels, sometimesMichael E. Craig #poetry
squinting, so too does the spadefoot. He is surrounded.
An ant crawls across a dog biscuit. A baseball hat is mistaken
briefly for a large mushroom. Nobody seems to ever tire
of this. Then everyone gets tired at once, and night is quiet.