Page 74

By Jack Joseph Smith

I don't feel him when I milk our holstean You rotten basterds When the sun goes down all along the fence I see a thousand things before I turn back to the dog and kids and best of farm house shaeks I have pulled my good jeans up for the day I have put my grandpa's long sleeved white shirt over the top of me perhaps to wild for feeling The in and out naps are down They have faded now, they are musrats in the swerve of clay Now I will unstrap my boots my laces one at a high time I will walk back through His hand made oak door

Original Scan

AI Interpretation

GPT

The page returns to milking, work clothes, and the walk back into the house, making evening labor feel both lonely and ritualized.

Boots, jeans, the grandfather's shirt, musrats, and the oak door all give the poem a strong physical structure. The speaker's feeling is carried less by abstraction than by the act of dressing, undressing, and moving through the farm at dusk.

Claude

The oily Holstein and `rotten basterds` refrain again — a thousand things seen before turning back to dog, kids, and shack. Boots unlaced, Grandpa's white long-sleeved shirt worn, the hand-made oak door walked back through. The page is a ritual day's close.