It was July and it was Texas
and we followed the Kabota
as it dug a nice straight line
for us into the dry earth,
us laying the water line
straight and soft
into the furrowed ground.
Grandfather would laugh
when we asked for water
and say “aint this some sissy shit
you boys sure got soft
in the city” and I don’t know
but maybe the worst day
of my life after that was
when the tones woke us early
to a suicide attempt
in a rough part of the city—
she was just a girl
and when we come up
her mother or someone
has packed the deep cuts that run
straight down the insides of her
arms with flour to clot the blood
and I am sweating through my uniform
it is July in Houston and it
is hot and I wonder
if the city made her soft too
and couldn’t we all just
be hard old men then nothing
could touch us.
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