Opklahoma Quitting Time Poem by Jim Manning

Beneath clouds that swirl from orange to dull gray,
I watch sundown crows fly parallel flight plans
with the hawk. I inhale pungent odors from newly
open furrows: red worms working humid soil.

I hear the scurrying of rabbits into the dusk
of blackberry brambles, listen to voices of hounds
leaping in the hollows and resounding through
the blackjack oaks.

Pouring from narrow shafts
of abandoned mines,
bats beat the drums of night.

Time to up-end my plough and

follow
my mules
home.