2Some had lakes, some had shores, some got trips
Some wasted it all on the couch watching old reruns of Stargate
I got desserts.
Dry, cold, hot, sometimes snow-covered desserts
Family, for me speaks of hot places,
for it seems sometimes that my blood must be made of sand
Summer is rolling waves of grain, spoken in that certain Anthem
The roads there reach to the sky,
till that blue heaven lean down and touches the circle of earth
And,
Between the roads lie fields
some lie fallow,
some sown with golden grain.
The wind blows and they really do look like waves.
I'm sailing in a golden sea and I'm breaking the speed limit.
There are no laws where there are no people.
Hot days
but the wind blows, so it's alright.
Work is hard
feel like a gopher.
Kill weeds
Stack wood
Stack shingles
what needs to be done.
The old man is in charge
His face is it's own geography,
you could make a career out of it.
hills, mountains, ranges, valleys and canyons
he says it's from agent Orange and the Vietnam War
Craggy,
way better than the man in the moon.
Did I tell you?
I think I mentioned it earlier but I have to say it again
The land goes on endlessly, empty and windswept,
on to the horizon where only the scattered hills can attempt to beak the perfect circle were heaven leans down to gently touch the earth.
Somehow, despite their massive bulk,
they fail.
Master Mechanic
He tells me the army taught him,
Air Force, maybe?
I tuned out soon,
He tells a lot of stories.
But,
His hands can make metal dance,
bend and twist like a woman.
Any way he wants.
I realize he's like a very tiny god,
to me metal is solid and immovable.
To factor into existence.
But to him metal must be like wood, or even clay.
To mold as he sees fit.
What he controls is his own dominion.
His is so much greater than mine.