Turlock

A shotgun rests on his lap

Rocking chair creaks

Breeze kicks up pollen

from the am-uhnd fields

Wispy white hair don’t notice

Lungs full of manure with

no time for rose-smellin

He oversees

behind beady, wrinkled eyes

what he worked so hard

to steal

Waits

for the next devil that dares

steal his freedom

Lives under the model that

everything has a price tag

Tax him and it’s robbery

but he don’t mind when the cattle

come cheap

Believes in Jesus

but fails to notice

the miracles all around him

How the blossoms unfurl in spring

or how the sun melts behind the barn

and paints the evening violet

Used to be a tough guy

Fought for his country

Listens with a filter

fashioned out of confederate flags

Stubborn, proud and ornery

Even his liver spots are angry

as they mosh about his pale skin

Will die to defend a constitution

he interprets only protects

people like him

Rocking Chairs on Main House, Painting by Richard R. Russo

4/10/14