Never Quit Poem by John Ackerman

The boar hog shovels his voice into mudslop
where corn rolls, stripped
come fall he will be cut; his hams,
pork links rocking in the smoke
grandma sharpens her knife on Arkansas
Sam bends, spits chew in the bucket,
the breeze quits
Spiders tie nets to fruit jars,
it is boring with them in Blue Hills
when gum trees blossom
their thoughts are like dust in a salt box
Boring pig blood perks below ground
Their palsied hands like horse tails swishing flies
headlines shared
you and who
turned the tables with a dude
a stud of Irish or a Scot discent
a great reflection
make believe stirring through the trees
painted pictures in our skulls
those Isles
loose lambs in the breeze