Take Out Insurance on Your Pickle Jars
Written By: Shane Eaves
The weatherman is prognosticating.
My neighbors are arguing like two deflating balloons
or like a brick on my back porch, with a tidal shaped
cleft in its jaw, which seems
I walk across it on my way to the dried up bird
bath, recalling how bricks are formed—sloppy red
hearts in rectangular presses. Somewhere inside I think
a pickle jar is waiting to crash, I can hear its Tchaikovskian
explosion against the floor, and like a raindrop I want
to piece it back together. In my mind is a photograph
of two bodies walking beside a railroad track
during the Dust Bowl. They carry guitars
or suitcases, or maybe each other, and above them
a sign states Next Time Try The Train
The man reclining and the high-backed chair like a svelte
headstone remind you how crooked your garden grew last year,
how very right the weatherman was—pickles today
and pickles tomorrow, isn’t that the news
papered behind every billboard?
Shane Eaves received his M.F.A. in poetry from California State University Long Beach, where he served as the poetry editor for Riprap. He is a two time recipient of the William T. Shadden Memorial Award for his poetry. His poetry can be found in The American Mustard Collective, Riprap, Bird’s Thumb, Rust + Moth, and the upcoming issue of Miramar, as well as having been displayed at Soapbox and Fusion—two multi-media, cross genre art shows.