Sometimes we like to do something for the story
we'll tell afterwards. Buy a ‘58 Pontiac, climb
a mountain in the dark. Lamar tells dirty jokes
with class, knows how to wait awhile, bend
a syllable and enjoy the laughter. We continue
with our absurd work, building a fence miles long
waste of steel and strong straight lodgepole pine
but even I don't pine over it anymore. We're
self-acknowledged children, fence is play
and livelihood too, but something cheerful as sunshine
for all the death it costs. There is so much life
a little death doesn't matter. We stretch our muscles
the men feel like men, the women feel good too.
We stand around, watch a young rabbit one morning.
Copyright 2007 by Robert Ronnow.