The Summer of Snakes Some summer I bailed hay, For Farmer Dan, square bales, square As caskets, just as heavy. Dan tooled the tractor while I manned The wagon, snatching the twine As the baler spit out bales across its tongue, Stacking them seven stacks high, Tight as Tupperware, as we jounced Along the rutted and groundhog-holed fields. Some afternoon I saw it, Couldn’t have been more skittish If I saw my grandparents doing the deed, Seeing that black snake...
