Agriculture by Ed Markowski

Mango trees lined the road at the Northern edge of the village
Not a lick of wind yet mango leaves shimmied thirty ­ five feet
above our top hats on our left flank Wicked Willie from Saint
Augustine looked up and whistled a carbine kiss into a cluster
of leaves not one thread of black pajama floated down in the
village proper a few chickens scrambled four goats roamed six
pigs waddled monkeys ranted from a bamboo grove an amplified
crack one shot took the Beach Bum’s head off in the center
of the village in dust we dove and ducked then worked our
way over to the bamboo grove took a look nothing there
on our way out we did our Zippo & The Magicians routine
old men watched women wailed children aged thirty years
in ten seconds we took a bow we tipped our hats at the
South end of the village more mango trees fly covered ant
covered mangos mashed in the road oozing juice looking
back I saw a streak of flaming feathers pinball off the
Beach Bum and through the legs of a smoldering goat
and with the exception of the Beach Bum I watched
myself and every other guy in our squad turn to ash.

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