at the edge of every woods
Lincoln Michel

at the edge of every woods
in every town

a small boy folded up
inside of a blue baseball hat

he is heading to the tracks
with the perfect smooth stone
to derail the passenger train
his father is returning on

or else hurling himself
into a well that is only a hole
whose waters have receded to mud

and breaking one femur and three
fingers and not even crying
as a lone rat dances
across his stomach

for three days
until he is hauled up
into the blinding light
by a search crew
composed of every girl
whose pigtails he has ever pulled