by Kyle Newman

When the sun comes up
I speedwalk backwards
to a tall cover crop.

Sprint with my wife
through a life cycle of corn
just to slow time.

Order doctors to
cut out my mind’s
eighty-millisecond buffer
so now I see in pure azaleas
and dogwoods and

horses growing old
and breakable, sons
outgrowing gloves, meteors
flaming at random over
a weathered marbleyard

and an old man
sitting in the kitchen with
a gray dog at his feet
and bare wrists

and dawn streaking through,
daydreaming about
how long it takes
a fence post to split.

KG Newman is a sportswriter for The Denver Post. His first four collections of poems are available on Amazon and he has been published in scores of literary journals worldwide. The Arizona State University alum is on Twitter @KyleNewmanDP and more info and writing can be found at kgnewman.com. He is the poetry editor of Hidden Peak Press and he lives in Hidden Village, Colorado, with his wife and three kids.