Poems by James Johnson

American Toad

by James Johnson

From Canary Spring 2019

Jim paddles the lakes and rivers of the Souris Red Rainy Watershed in the summer and walks the streams of the Driftless Area of the Upper Mississippi in the spring and fall. His grandparents homesteaded on Whitebird Creek, tributary of the Stillwater River, tributary of the Yellowstone.

Contrary to popular opinion, the American
toad does not have an American flag
stitched to its back like Peter Fonda in
Easy Rider. In fact the last American toad
I have seen was green, dark green, Forest
Service green, the same green as my pump,
so green I only happened to notice the
slight bulge on the snout of the pump was
a hunkered down toad. When I picked it
up, I noticed its belly was desert camouflage
as if ready for assignment to aid the oil-
bearing oppressed. I, however, placed the
toad back on the pump. No call-up today.
Instead, I salute the green, the unnoticed
Easy Rider at home on my pump. Peace, man.

© James Johnson

Where The Yellowstone Flows: Billings

by James Johnson

From Canary Spring 2023

near Billings
the horizon sagging like powerlines
tangled in oil refinery rigging
and all that cattle congress fencing
the Yellowstone
descending
through layer after
geological layer
eras rolled out like hog wire
even carp catfish paddlefish
finning in the conflicted currents
where prehistoric red scruted fish
preside

caught a catfish once
moustached like a lawman
with shock spined fins and
black skin
peeled off
with pliers revealing
meat as white as a black bear
on an old glass plate negative
back when
in the Park
had what were called bear jams
you see a tourist would see a bear
stop
get out of the car and leave
a sandwich on the front seat
the door open
and wait with a camera
for the bear to paw down that sandwich
then sit back
behind the steering wheel
black bear in black Model A Ford
like he was really going somewhere
toward another century of progress
and the cars backed up behind
horns honking
like New York City traffic bleating
confused as ewes newborn as lambs
that was what we called
bear jams

river crooked rapid containing
sawyers as to run with its bottom up
too thick to drink
too thin to walk on (M Lewis 19 May 1805)

where the Yellowstone flows
near Lockwood
flooding scoured river bottom
exposed Silvertip pipeline

we fell in with two brown or yellow bear
which we wounded
one made his escape the other pursued me
so closely until
we again fired and killed him
the legs of this bear longer than the black
(M Lewis 29 April 1805)

breaking
releasing crude
spilling oil into
twenty five mile long slick
raging downstream toward
the confluence
the Missouri

scoured river bottoms
debris
spreading oil
into pastures
now seeping into furrows
where crops wilted even weeds could not stand up
fifty thousand gallons
spilling soiling oil