The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
Hog Butcher for the World,
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders...
Pile the bodies high...
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all...
If I should pass the tomb of Jonah
I would stop there and sit for awhile;
Because I was swallowed one time deep in the dark
And came out alive after all.
To find out more about me, click on the Not Your Average Jo tab.