Montana

Watching crows eat roadkill in Montana, my rifle slung across my shoulder, early morning workers sweating, cursing, as they break apart a boulder Ice cream truck stops by the roadside, driver shouting “come and get it”, A lumbering moose the only taker, the angry driver shouts “forget it”. The river overflows into the valley’s golden corn fields The farmers lay large sand bags, they fear to loose their yields Crop duster circles as the crows fly in pursuit of falling butterflies and ladybugs who perched upon the fruit. The poison claimed their short lived lives today bees flee, birds scatter, all escaping from the spray The bobcat spies the moose, in all it’s forest glory pouncing on its back it sinks its teeth, I cannot watch, too gory. Thunder in the valley, rain falls ‘cross the land a forest dweller begs for help, he needs a helping hand “My daughter ran away without a word into the city, I only ask for where to search, I do not ask for pity”. “Dear man what can I say, I’m just a hunter, not raised in Hollywood, where only bad girls find their way there”, the old man understood He slowly disappears beyond the trees, and softly moans, The crows have finished with the roadkill and only left the bones. And me, I think I’ll patch my jeans, and jump into the water and climb into my pickup truck, go searching for his daughter I hold a picture I was given, as he walked into the woods I must admit she is a beauty, and has the proper goods To drive this man to find her, before she disappears, into the crowded city streets, that drive young girls to tears The beauty of Montana, the forest and the farms, will call me back I pray, with his daughter in my arms