Bill of Goods
by Jon Ballard
Someone’s laughter seizes me from across
The field like the long reach of a madman.
Suddenly this place isn’t what it used to be.
I had intentions of finding myself alone for once,
But this field—hawking its artisan wares
Of quietude and meadow grass—saw me coming.
Even now, with the road that brought me here
Too far to see, and silence settling in
Again—maybe even for the long haul—I
Can’t help but think: sucker, mark, dupe, sap.