A white crane about
the size of a small single-
prop airplane is just
now dropping down out
of the big blue nowhere and
coming to a rest
upon what appears
to be an old road sign that’s
poking up at a
slight angle from an
eight-teen acre pond on a
farm, just outside of
Lyons, KS, where
a shirtless old man with an
ancient rod and reel
and a tall-boy of
Hamms, is immersed up to his
bony, Bermuda-
shorted knees (looking
positively Hemingway-
esque in his fashion-
ably floppy old
camo boonie-hat ), shouting,
Hey, you boys, look at
that great, big son-of-
a-bitch!, while a cat chases
moths through the tall grass.
