The best part of living on a farm
is pissing anywhere outdoors with
grandmother and grandfather in
plain view of night, not knowing
the difference between today and 1969.
Everything right with it turning
wrong like the world waiting for
another Dust Bowl. You clear the
killing fields, one of the hardest jobs
ever, if done too deep.
The better part is seeing the old
Ford in the driveway to take you
to the truth, showing the difference
between a garden and crops.
You fuck up though.
You think every human is human.
You’re afraid to ask for help and
you think there are ghosts that are ashamed.
You want a simpler life, but can
only go back so far in time
to dig the hard soil.