Franklin Zawacki’s poem “Roadsiding Hay” — which is reproduced below — just won him the 2014 Robert Frost Award.  His bio can be read at the organization’s website (click here).  Franklin will read selected and recent poems.  An open mic follows.

Roadsiding Hay

It hardly matters what holds the load in place.
My days are spent crossing levees,
dodging trees.
Up one windrow and down the other.
The clanking chains convey the bales
to the top of the wobbling load
growing a tier higher with each pass.

Tonight the full moon tempts the field out
from under me.
Open full-throttle, I abandon all directions.
Straps of light slip from blue shoulders.
Rut holes catch me dreaming:
my knees go down in sand.

Each time I genuflect, my wires jar loose.
Fog spills from the culvert.
Prayers hold the stars in place.

I should have warned you:
when you hear me coming,
throw open the gates.
Once I’ve cleared the field,
I have no way to stop.

A breeze wraps me in a swath of cow’s breath.
My wheels flatten as I float through space.
How happy I’d be just transporting stars across the sky.