Thanksgiving

The boots the men work in rest on the porch
The light on the ambulance sheds sparks like a torch
I watch from a step because no one waits for me
Timothy Clugan's been in bed twenty-two years,
                    And then he fell
But it's his wife they carry away
John Dolan's been dead now twenty-two years.
                     I lived to tell
Without determining to stay
In twice as many almost I understood last
                                                   Why people pray
The wind knocked wrens from the branches
                                                   This morning yesterday