There have not been very many days in my life
well in fact, this is the only one,
on which I could say “I rode on a donkey cart today.”
Sitting quietly on the porch of my mother-in-law’s home,
typing away on my laptop, a knock came at the gate
and my name was hollered over the fence, an invitation for a ride.
I don’t think there is anything quite like the dirt flying in your face with the wind blowing in your hair,
and the way the world—(mainly your poems and your laptop)—
is being swiftly left behind you, with the methodical whack of a donkey’s back with a big heavy stick.