field dream no 2
It’s dark. I’m manning a floodlight.
A girl is car-surfing in a corn field
& she wants me to see every second.
Little nicotine contrails in her wake.
Another girl is driving the car. She kills
the headlights so it’s on me to light
I’ve never been good at reading minds
& almost lose them in the crop.
The driver makes a sharp turn
at the scarecrow, throwing the other girl
from the roof of the car. She parks behind a shed.
Disappears in the corn to look for the other girl.
The rustling stops for a while.
When the surfer emerges, bloody from fun,
she’s alone. She looks to me, mouths
did you get that? She seems further
away than before. The floodlight dims.
A car key digging into my thigh.
field dream no 5
I was naked in a field. I was buried
to my ankles. The wheatgrass high
& tan. Some broken blades. You
were sitting on a keg & smoking
& wearing my good shoes.
I asked for a shovel. You gave me
two Barbie arms & a stick of gum.
You pointed to the yellowing
sky then your wrist.
I dug what earth I was able.
You opened the tap.
A siren spread out under
the cloud bank. Dissonance
in an echo chamber.
TR BRADY is an MFA candidate at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. TR’s poems and prose have appeared in Forklift, Ohio, Bombay Gin, Tupelo Quarterly, If You Can Hear This: Poems in Protest of an American Inauguration, and Arkana.