When he opens the gate
it sounds like dogs
getting kicked by steel-toed boots
howling the arrival of steel
towed vehicles
the things junk yards eat
till they are full
and even still after they are filled
spilling into the dirt
under a twelve-foot seat
strapped to the back of a stronger metal.
He spits into the ground and makes dust
more shades of rust
he makes wet spots on the earth
smashed trussed mashed
into cubes of native rock
wrapped steel tourniquets
against the backs of sedans and muscle.
Old paint and new
disordered and nonplussed
rough casted rot
like the jaw of the man
who opens the junkyard’s gate
with all the metal he can muster
in his greased right arm
moving the ground-bound blocks
of crushed hardware up and over
magnetic veins of loose ore
slipping deep into the dried out floor
of alloy and ingot.
Deposits of man-made leaf
leaving tracks in the bottom
of his steel-toed boots
he sits tasting Red Man and plaque
sweat traced cracked lines on the back
of his twelve-foot seat
he kicks dogs every time he moves metal.
About the Creator
Rush Eby
I'm an American writer, novelist, and photographer based out of Franklin Tennessee. My first novel Eat Me is currently in pre-publication and I am now finishing my upcoming novel, Fetish.
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