Saturday, August 5, 2017

Regulation Standards: A prose poem (Day 199)

 
 Two of my neighbors built a horseshoe pit,
to regulation standards, in the yard next door. 
For a few evenings, their laughter rang out like 
a clanging bell, testifying to the neighborhood’s 
well-being. Then the games ended. I wonder 
what happened? Did one cheat the other 
out of points, or the last hot dog on the grill, 
or half a handful of their mutually-preferred drugs? 
Or maybe one asked too much of the other, 
expected too much time, too much hilarity, and 
frightened the other away? Perhaps it was 
the simple fact that one was employed, 
while the other avoided jobs like cracks in a sidewalk 
(not wanting to break his estranged mother’s back). 
These days, young rabbits graze the grown-over pits, 
and lush weeds camouflage the wooden backstops, 
disguising the evidence that, for a few evenings, 
two men’s worlds overlapped, like a Venn diagram, 
but were unable to sustain contact. 




(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Horseshoe pitching contest at the annual field day of the FSA (Farm Security 
Administration) farmworkers community, Yuma, Arizona, courtesy US Library of Congress