Turn on the dirt road at the bottom
of the hill, then go past the big
curve. Slow on the wash-board,
drive between the ruts, two tires
on the gravel shoulder, the truck
shimmies and rattles, light in back.
Just past the place with all the dogs,
on the left, you’ll see the pasture
first, the house back from the road.
There’s a blue mailbox, the name
sun-bleached and hard to read. It’s
the place at the end of the day.