Been a while since I posted here! I owe you all an ode, but for now, this little poem popped into my head, and I wanted to share. Enjoy :)

The Farmer's Night

Sitting in the open barn door
Looking out as evening settles
For once, everything is done
Alone
The light is golden
The smell of green and fertile, virile all around
It might all go to shit
But all is good for now
All is calm
He can't cry
The pain pours through him like the years flow through him
Turning and twisting features beyond recognition
But untouching of the calm inner core
A glass of whiskey on the folding table beside his busted chair
A birthday present - the drink, not the mangled furniture
From a friend with no sense for practicalities
Barely touched
He won't drown himself in it, as some men do
Just wants to feel the burn of it, bursting and crackling on his tongue
Wants to feel something
Those other men, they feel the pain too fiercely, and
Must drink to dull the horror
For him it flows right on by
No more lasting than an eddy in the nearby creek
He must have felt it, once upon a time
The burst and crackle of a passion not yet burnt away by too many droughts
Carved away by too many floods
Eaten away by too many pests
In the eyes of a woman who bore him five strong sons
Before the unrelenting blunt edge of it all wore her away to nothing
Snapping grey eyes, eyes that danced,
Once upon a time
He couldn't even feel for her now
Even if her warm hands were more than just a memory
The edges of the fingers he used to use to grasp at something,
Anything
With meaning
Worn away by work and time
Worn to the nub
Worn to the bone
Worn
Nothing now but dust and time
Too much of one
Little enough of the other
And the cricket song and smell of grass on a fine summer night

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