Mission Exit
In the far lane
out of the marine fog,
Near Mission Road Exit-
the 5 South-
a 1965 Ford Ranchero,
vein blue
and sea bleached bone white.
The grim faced driver,
hands at ten and two,
her plum head wrap and
fingers tight as roots,
her face twisted furrows.
I will never know her.
She will hold all she knows
sacred, broken-
as real as a sharpened knife-
and disappear uncaptured
even by these words.
.
Categories:
ranchero, humanity,
Form: Free verse
We do things a little different here
Down on the farm
With chickens in the kitchen
Instead of outside in the barn
Pigs back in the bedroom
Watching Jeopardy, eating candy corn
Yes, we do it a little different
Down here on the farm
We have the cows over for dinner
Every Thursday night
Used to be more often
But not since the big food fight
The cows and horses don't get along
I really don't understand their dislike
That's why we had to cut back
To dinner only on Thursday night
The sheep pile into the Ranchero
Whenever we head to town
To stock up on their favorite Doritos
And licorice by the pound
When they get behind the wheel
They feel they're heaven bound
When ever it is those licorice loving lambs
Herd themselves downtown
Things seem to be running smoothly
Down here on the farm
We all do our on cooking and cleaning
So we pretty much get along
All except for the pigs
But that we should have known
We still are having a Whoop & Hollering time
Down here on the farm
Categories:
ranchero, animal, humor,
Form: Light Verse