Saturday, June 9, 2012

The farmer by Martin Lochner

Eternity surrounds the ancestral porch where he sat
chewing on the memories of men before him
framed and existing with strict eyes in the living room

he sat there and only moved with the rays of the sun
khaki lizard with pipe tobacco and fingering nostril sniff
with mint eyes he stares into this shimmering mirage of land

“50 years I fought this ridge back bitch of soil” he said
cutting through his back, chewing on his spine of boulders

Grandpa stared at me as a cart load of grain came past us
The donkey moaned and he said “toil is in our blood”

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