Poetry
Fall
2018

The Dying Farmer

Act I

Put me where I am useful
just beneath the topsoil
half-inch down of warmth
and wet loam in my hands
pitch me a shovel or rake
let me get up when the sun
splits land from sky and blazes

There’s work to be done

 

Act II

Tell me to rest when darkness falls
though I keep one ear to the barn
where the calving goes
when the sow spits outs piglets
like drops of water and then rolls over
on one or two short
happy lives

If I’m not there to save them
put me in marketing or
production or design
and teach me a fresh use for duck tape
the brave new ground

 

Act III

I want a part
in a pioneering play
and I’m fine to be
the living tree on stage
with no lines to speak