Stone fence
I built me a stone fence
by stacking one glass
of Maker’s Mark whiskey
on another,
interspersed with
large lumps of ice,
mortared with sweet cider.
I built me a stone fence
in a circle and,
when it was done,
leaped inside the circuit and
fell down the well to
the center of the Earth where
I met Buddha, Our Lady of Light,
the Queen of Clubs and
St. Augustine who wanted to
get on the wagon but
not just yet.
I built me a stone fence
across the face of northwest Ireland
as if to corral the island’s
saints, fairies, snakes, nuns and travelers
in the backroom of a pub where
the constable is writing poetry,
and I long for coffee.
I built me a stone fence
and went out on Main Street
in noonday sun
where Johnny Raptor,
wanted in seven states,
called me out,
and, as I drew,
my skull was thundered with
a screaming headache that
no hangover remedy was ever going
to calm.
I built me a stone fence
and then crawled under the weight of it all
into my sympathetic grave.
Patrick T. Reardon
5.9.19
This poem originally appeared in the anthology Cowboys & Cocktails, published 4.2.2019.
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.
