Bob Hicok

Minding my business

It's said we'll each eat a pound of dirt before we die,
I'm putting that meal off until the end, not knowing
what wine goes best with earth or how to grow wings or what
to say to the nearby tree from whom a man was hung
not so long ago, I'm sorry we did that to you is true,
made you complicit, and there's a town in this neck
called Lynchburg, I have trouble saying that, as I'd
have trouble saying Final Solutionville, why brag, even
inadvertently on sins by naming dirt
after them, but there it is, we did, we do inhabit
the words we use, and if I'm eating this place
by littles, I'd like every inch and acre
christened by holier sounds, before it eats me.