dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: hay

Our tongues lie down

Like breeze-brushed

Hayfields in the summertime,

Dry but alive

And dancing

In their own weary way,

Each golden grain

Saying much with little

Snake-like flicks,

Sharply sentencing

The sky forever to

The cracked clay.

Hauling hay bales

Down the highway,

A rusty trailer showers

Passing cars with golden straws.

These sunbeam sticks

Dance up windshields

Like a Peter Pan posse,

Until a gust of wind

Pushes them up, up and over.

Racing down trunks,

Bumping over license plates,

Then leaping to the ground,

They sit like limp tinsel on the pavement,

Waiting in vain for another wild ride.