Attending Church, Age 3
Monsieur Pedreau's Garden
Short Term Memory Loss
The Peasant Dance
Barn Owl in Churchyard
Venice by Early Morning
Opening the Cabin
Hanging Up the Spurs
HANGING UP THE SPURS, THE TREE TOPPER
A strong gust of wind sets this fir swaying.
Through high swells, I lose my grip. The rope slips,
and the tree, a fist, slams me in the stomach.
Unable to catch my breath, a red light flashes on
in my head. The only way I know to make a living
is to climb these giants-- no net.
Having more close calls than I care to admit,
it's time to quit, pass the spurs to the burly kid,
who lettered in wrestling and can get a strong hold.
Already, bruises, black roses, are blooming
on my arms and chest. In my knapsack
is a bottle of liniment.
Tonight, I can tell my wife,
she no longer has to worry
if the phone rings before I get home.
American Land Forum