Maine Fashion:
The Plow Truck's Grave
In the dark, in the blizzard,
at four-thirty in the morning
I dumped my plow truck off
the road
Down into the culvert:
A plow truck’s grave.
My neighbor came along
He plowed into me; five
hundred feet.
We hooked his chain.
“It should pop right out of
there” we said.
It did.
“What do I owe?”
“An apple pie”.
He got it.
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