Sport 42: 2014
You’ll spend at least one summer
building a concrete driveway
on his farm.
It curves up and around a steep hill.
One that the chicken trucks
used to spin and slide on
in the dense red mud.
At night you’ll play charades
on the porch. Your grandfather
acting out the time a truck rolled over.
His arms are the doors swinging open
his laughter is the sea of squawking chickens
pouring out and over grassy slopes.