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 shacks 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 speaker cannot feel him while milking and turns from sunset sights toward the dog, children, and farmhouse. Jeans, a grandfather's shirt, musrats, and removing boots precede a return through his handmade oak door.

Clothing and the workday's end give the absent man a place in the house even though the speaker cannot feel him. Anger interrupts these routines. The page leaves the reason for his absence unstated, so the interpretation need not specify a death or departure.

Claude

The poem says 'I don't feel him when I milk our holstean / You rotten basterds', 'I see a thousand things before I turn back / to the dog and kids and best of farm house / shacks', and ends 'I will walk back through / His hand made oak door'.

This typed page reworks the milking scene of pages 015 and 035, ending with a return through a door made by 'His' hand.