Morning radio talks on, all the local stuff,
garage sales and obits, next summer’s home grown fair,
country song blaring loud, left foot tapping,
smattering of rain dancing cold, across the glass.
Left I turn, past yellow dog espresso,
old yellow tail wagging as I pass,
the chicken that owns this road every time I go,
hiding in the barn, away from March wind.
Crow dance, hop and soar,
crying into that sun, holding on
bright and shiny, crow treasure
held tight against the world.
Tree tops reaching high, dancing in the breeze,
spring growth still held tight
against late winter chill,
tomorrow's storm coming down the line—
hope I’m home before it breaks.
Son’s college town comes up, just on time,
right at the light, off this road, at last;
truck man, riding my butt, rushing on by,
snow covered logs to the mill, then back, three times a day.
Back in the woods, faller's saw loud,
another one falling, sawdust in a cloud,
big tree dances, then rolling down,
tomorrow’s truck, tomorrow’s road, same-o, same-o.
Early here, son still in class,
Time for a cup, a break from the road,
outside winds against the glass
Espresso steam and music pulse strong.
College man deeply reading,
pulling out laptop, fingers in motion
Brain wheels moving, ideas flowing,
term paper starting, coffee cooling.
Soon to lunch, to meet my boy
college man, day's classes done,
catching up, seeing how he's grown,
his brain, his life, all fourth gear motion.
Then back to the road, just in reverse,
log trucks, empty, flying fast, before the storm
Afternoon radio, now this month’s war, getting worse.
Duets sung, with old friends’ songs,
home soon, young man tales to tell.
Winter storm comes, hitting hard,
Not quite light, truck driving man, he’s already awake,
wind and rain, I find my pen,
coffee made, my poem awaits.
Neal Lemery, 3/7/2014
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