Stone, Montana

It's time for the feasting that follows the four men it took
to carry the dead monster's head.
Just look at the clock—

its cheeks newly dusted by hands that just love to stay clean.
Everyone ready? Now what shall we eat?
A field full of stone

in a valley laid low by mountains?
The rocks are well-rounded. Brought here by acts of
cartwheel and split, with a long triple flip

off a glacier's indicative finger.
And what shall we drink? Water from rivers
risen by snow that was desperate to melt?

The creek's rapid rise left the rookery damp but the eagle
   is dry
at the top of a telephone pole.
Something for after? A pudding perhaps?

Or a leaf from the page
of ice age and flood? The field whitens and says, Indubitable.
Says, Let us be an anthem to indifference. At its extreme,

aloofness is stone. So said, the heroes all applaud, and wildly.