In Praise of Strawman
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In Praise of the Strawman
acrylic / canvas
Their moonlit limbs glide
over the styles
white shining as desert bone
and as quiet as snow,
alarming the horse
by the blackthorn tree
who shudders and climbs
deeper into the gloom
that he might not be seen
by the petticoat girls
with jaws of clenched purpose
and eyes of dark mischief
as they sail over fences
resolve hard as oak heart
and hair like insanity
fleeing their heads.
He need not be fearful
old Toby the cart horse
these nocturnal marauders
have no interest in horse flesh.
Soft footed as dormice
stout feet on the earth
the darkness it clings to them
like a child to the breast.
They are pursuing the straw man
who is still at his post
his blank eyes not seeing
that jackdaw and raven
have long since retired.
Star kissed the crow's eye
gleams out of the dark tree
and shuts once again on the dance
of the field
for they have now gathered round
the crop's lonely sentinel
and are singing his anthem
as ancient as death
they remember the others ,
dirt watchmen of the valley
protecting the sod
like their own flesh and blood.
But his face is rough sack cloth
so he can't feel their fingers
as he's tenderly reminded
that he's never forsaken
though he spends all his daydreams
alone with the sky.
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