One Evening A country lane turned itself into a loaded shotgun The abandoned farmhouse shut her eyes in anticipation Such a deafening sound that’s why no one heard it But sure spooked the crows who flew every which way Made the handyman woodpeckers drop their hammers The blackbirds scold whoever pulled the trigger Of the mailbox emblazoned with crooked numbers Crooked because whoever lived here let the children stick them on Children who one evening ran barefooted down this lane Chanting the right numbers in the wrong order