Dairymen Poems | Examples

Where I Live

7/18/02

In a tropical place, the climate
becomes a way of being.
Fruits and flowers on shirts and dresses,
breakfasts of bananas,
pineapple flavored passions of
afternoon, pathways to the moon on
evening seas, coconut-milk tipped waves at dawn,
palms tilting horizons and gulls gliding
the edge of time. 

Yet, where I live does not define me.

Not like the Irish dairymen, who
rain or shine, milk cows they
could easily set their clocks by.
 
Here on this perfect stretch of sand,
I am rootless - envious
of those who have never moved. 
I feel puppet-ized by modern life;
a little schizoid - liking where I am,
hearing the voices, while 
a part of me pines
for pastoral beginnings.