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Ben Doyle - Radio, Radio

In the middle of every field,
obscured from the side by grass
or cornhusks, is a clearing where
she works burying swans alive
into the black earth. She only
buries their bodies, their wings.
She packs the dirt tight around
their noodle necks & they shake
like long eyelashes in a hurricane.
She makes me feed them by hand
twice a day for one full year: grain,
bits of chopped fish. Then she
takes me to the tin toolshed.
Again she shows me the world
inside her silver transistor radio.
She hands me the scythe.

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Added: Feb 21 2003 | Viewed: 5225 times | Comments and analysis of Radio, Radio by Ben Doyle Comments (2)

Radio, Radio - Comments and Information

Poet: Ben Doyle
Poem: Radio, Radio
Volume: Radio, Radio
Year: Published/Written in 2000

Comment 2 of 2, added on May 12th, 2008 at 8:22 AM.

i like BEN DOYLE poem i want read more its really nice

Rup rasik from Nepal
Comment 1 of 2, added on February 19th, 2007 at 5:04 PM.

Do this poem has alliteration and onomatopoeias

Anthony Williams from United States

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