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Fred Rosenblum

Harvesting Art


Our neighbor, a sinewy

Seventy year old Dutch farmer

Whose spread on a dead-end road

Abutted the border with B.C.

Collected me at seven.    Asked me

If my recently, hyper-extended meniscus

Was well enough to unload hay wagons all night,

And I was pleased to report

That I had mended considerably, and would,

With a certain greenhorn enthusiasm,

Be delighted to join him atop those wheezy,

50 pound bales, six and seven tiers deep,

Under the illusion

Of the enlargement

Of the pumpkin floodlight,

Mid-July apricot moon

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