Donald Chance Poems

The truck bed stacked with long curved things—
scythes, as I recall.
Not real important,
I only wanted off my feet.
...

In the distance shining, attracting,
eyes strain to focus—slowly it draws near.
One by one they view,
message not understood,
...

You spent a trillion dollars
to create a blade of grass
And you, and you have the nerve
to recoil at the very thought
...