Those Girls Over the weekend, lightning struck An irrigation pipe that ran between the rows. It lived like something engendered in a lab, Flickering across the sullen water That pooled at the sweet corn’s feet. The storm it had forked from Had long gone west and to pieces But not before inseminating the field Where the detasseling crew was to resume Detasseling first thing Monday morning. Two girls died — one girl touched the pipe, The other girl touched the other girl When she cried out.