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THE CRUDE CRUTCH COMPANY
THE CRUDE CRUTCH COMPANY Stephen L. Harrison
Grass path, rocks and dirt in the way. Shove them aside, smooth it out.
That old willow, bent and worn. In it, I read the word Death.
Then, the sky— azure blue, with skylark song. It quieted my fear.
Walking back, I stubbed my toe and broke a branch from a tree.
I called it my company: The Crude Crutch Company.
Then I shouted at the clouds, “Fuck off, you boring losers with your technocratic fangs!”
I found you among the rocks and stones as I made way for my lawns.
Grass path,
Move them aside, make it smooth. That old willow,
In it, I saw the word Death. Then, the sky—
with birds singing. It calmed my fear. Walking back,
and broke a branch from a tree. I called it my company:
Then I yelled at the clouds,
with your controlling ways!” I found you
as I cleared the way for my lawns.