hair of the dog

whiskey over ice
this morning
the softness of birds 

a glimmer of sunlight
on the rusted tractor

out of poverty
between barley sheaths
an armed robbery

just for the thrill of it;
faster, pussycat! kill! 

counting death masks
you ask the wind
to blow the other way

all over town
the scent of the cannery
the crash of waves

building a mountain
out of rocking horse shit

worn thin
enough to be real...
sometimes

through potato soup
you read about the war

in refrigerator magnets
a poem;
hair of the dog...

Michael O'Brien
Clayton Beach