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Jason Bredle

So Everybody Wants to Know Where You Go When You Die

 

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy

dog and so ends another day

on the farm. Sometimes dog is retriever

and sometimes dog is collie and always

dog is lazy even amongst smattering

of bleeding chicken carcasses unless

it is suppertime in which case lazy

dog becomes energized by sound

of dinner bell from yonder porch and barks

constantly no matter how much I yell

shut up. At suppertime lazy energized

dog jumps over farm hand napping

with blade of wheat in mouth after

startling sheep with frenetic white shaving.

Giardia-suffering horse jumps over startled

skinned sheep and I jump onto back

of giardia-suffering horse to ride toward

suppertime bell until giardia-suffering horse

takes too many bathroom breaks and I jump

onto back of quick brown fox while lazy

energized dog barks and runs alongside

as we all ride toward supper except for giardia-

suffering horse who suffers from giardia

too badly to eat. I am on quick

brown fox yelling shut up amongst

a smattering of bleeding chicken carcasses,

aproned pie-baking wife is yelling

come and get it as we ride houseward.

At this point farm hand napping

with blade of wheat in mouth awakens to sound

of come and get it and jumps over smattering

of bleeding chicken carcasses onto back of giardia-

suffering horse who makes nay and jumps

into patch of grass for suffering. Farm hand

with blade of wheat in mouth jumps

onto back of lazy energized dog who is barking

at dinner bell and aproned pie-baking wife

yelling come and get it. Surprised skinned

sheep jumps over giardia-suffering

horse who is now lying motionless in patch

of grass. Suddenly, giardia-suffering horse

becomes full of motion, jumps over entire

barn and silo and runs past myself

riding quick brown fox and farm hand

riding lazy energized barking dog

and the now running startled skinned sheep

who mistakenly is running in opposite

direction and so ends another day

on the farm. It is the gloaming, the year’s harvest

nearly complete. This winter, we will sell

our farm to Wal-Mart. In three years

I will stand near mitts in sporting goods

where I once leapt, where I once ran alongside

quick brown fox and lazy energized

dog and startled skinned sheep and giardia-

suffering horse toward aproned pie-baking

wife yelling come and get it, yelling

come and get it into the deep blue gloaming

of our forever encroaching darkness.

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