Years of going to the farm
Years of taking the walk with your mother, guests and guards
From the warm house to the horses you mostly go down
For an hour with your mother, guests, and guards
Fenced by black wood and electric wire
The narrow path has hills on both sides
An indigo lake at the end of each end
Fresh water springs and bridges that cross
Today I made the descent in thirty-five
No talk, no guards
Fast past the pregnant cows that moan
Took a stick to repel the dirty dogs
But on the climb back to the house
A herd of cows was using my path
With my stick I bent electric wire
And sat in a pasture to wait for the cows
During my wait the grass moved in waves
And I watched white clouds drift by
But I knew it would sound dumb
If I wrote it down just like that
So I sat in a field to think of ways
To thank the walk and the cows for the wait
But when I got up to a path blackened by shit
I lost all hope for the scope of this poem
—
This very casual poem was recently published by Empty Mirror Books. Happy weekend to all!