Fighting the Sun

The salty smell of supper ham ordains
the evening, preaches to a mass
of slump and slumber in the rolling
chair. Livestock fed and beans tended,
sunbeams swallowed by crickets, night

is called from its shy window by silence
after snaps of barn locks, greeted
by inanimate squeaks of pain
as Matthew's girth bends the wood
of his rocker. Suspenders and grimy

bootlaces hang loose, flopping medals
of plight and pride. Pipe smoke spins
through porch screens in blue corkscrew
ease, teasing the fading day with curls
of relaxation. Telling the dark to come,

the stars to shine, reminding the sleepy
sun its reign is over, its torture muted
by pauses and powders of satisfaction.
Informing it that night, no matter how
adjacent, is not complicit in its crimes.

Patrick Carrington was born and raised in the boroughs of New York City. He teaches language arts and creative writing in southern New Jersey and lives on a secluded beach with his wife and the ocean they love. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in various print journals, including Confrontation Magazine, Epicenter, Bardsong, Clark Street Review, Devil Blossoms, Lullaby Hearse, Poetry Motel, and Willard & Maple, and on-line at Rock Salt Plum Review, Slow Trains Literary Journal, Adagio Verse Quarterly, Facets Magazine, Carnelian, Artistry of Life, Clean Sheets, mannequin envy, Thieves Jargon, and Zygote in My Coffee.