The old man lost his license
Now they say he'll lose his leg
But he still drives his old jeep to town
And of the leg
He says
“I think I'll keep it.”
He sleeps in a borrowed trailer
On land electric lines don't touch
On land water pipes don't reach
On land gone acid with his sweet-smelling piss
When you want to see him you drive out and holler
He'll come to the door waving a rifle
The trailer's stuffed with his smell
And old saddles
Old gun stocks
Magazines with young girls in them
Old women still bring him pies
He's not supposed to eat
He wears that shirt his first wife sewed for him
Though now he can only button it at the top
He wants to go hog hunting
Thinks he still knows someone with some hounds
And do we know anyone who's still got hogs on his land?
Used to be
That open country was prime for hog wallows
They'd root out the ground, keep the young firs
From taking over and swallowing the grassland
Now the young firs are tall
His chin shakes
His stubble is dyed orange with dip
“I'm going hunting this fall,
Hog hunting.”
“It'll kill you,”
We tell him
“Oh I'll die,” he says
“But goddamn
I'm gonna die
With a gun in my hand.”