Nailed To The Cross

Nailed To The Cross short poem

Photo by Marxchivist

There are no crows by that side of the road
just dust and debris from the long-fallow field

and that legless marionette hanging from a frame
it never seems to age, its expression unchanging

a glint of oversized eyes, vicious drowning pools
and a suggestion of hands that never wave

I asked my father if anything ever grew on that tract
he made no answer just began tapping a code on the dash

my old Ford blew a tire there once near sundown
the dark seemed to spread from murk within its coat

there was a noise like cello strings being sawn
a scent of grease rendered from a sick beast

kneeling in the gravel, my head almost in the ditch
thinking of lost love and sucking in two lungs full of death

that thing just hung there like it was the sacrifice
the only thing it had ever been asked to do it was doing

it never had to figure out how to stretch a tiny paycheck
it never had to tell its daughter that Christmas was cancelled

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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3 Comments on "Nailed To The Cross"

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Bill Peeler

Good stuff. I’m can’t do much with commentary, so that’s all I can come up with.


Ah a great read indeed. Sometimes eyeing a scarecrow with a crow sitting on his outstreched arms makes me laugh I could flap the crow away and say do not be so disrespecful to a man doing his job.

Linda Symonds

Great write! I’ve always thought scarecrows are really creepy, but your words go beyond the object….sometimes events in our lives make our efforts seem just as ineffectual.


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