Farms frame the swatch of wild ridge
line and hand nature more
misery than she deserves for her
sustainable soil; one man among his
rolled bales that mildew in the summer
torpor brains his biggest billy
for the week’s meat; his slaughter’s bleating
laughter cries into the valley, echo into silence—
the chucked thuds and
wet splats replace
it, the corpse hung for gutting;
forgetting himself, he grins
against the pathology, grins about the stew.
Author Bio: Josh Lowder
Josh received his Poetry MFA from College of Charleston in 2018, where he won the First Crazyhorse MFA Poetry Prize, has contributed at Sewanee Writers Conference, road-managed bands like Fu-Manchu, and appeared for Adult Swim in ‘Too Many Cooks’.