THE DAY I SAW THE UFO
I’m sitting
with my back against the tractor tire
eating lunch in the long field by the lake
It flies over
directly South to North
plenty high and far from humanly fast
It is made of a metal that shines out of itself
I rise with a smile
brush the crumbs from my jeans
set my eyes on the furrow
and let out the clutch
GRANDFATHER’S PIPE
Long after he had died
I used to smoke my grandfather’s pipe
Not really one of his old pipes
but a knobby meerschaum that I bought
probably because it reminded me of him
the sweetness of his tobacco and his being
Or was it him smoking it and me
LIFEBUOY
I never have learned to swear very well
which just goes to show
that training will tell
That there is much to be said for good homes
and payoffs for stern discipline and hope
It’s not that I don’t know the words
but they all still taste like soap
EYES OF FRIENDS
While out pursuing life’s dim ends
we often meet the eyes of friends
It’s great to feel that magnet’s pull
the hearts becoming warm and full
There may be time to stop and stare
and many years of love and care
Or maybe silent and by chance
just a brief brief moments glance
It doesn’t really matter much
the contact’s made we feel the touch
Though if we ask of hows and whys
and what’s the magic of those eyes
They do what mirrors can’t quite do
they let you see right through to you
HOME MADE ICE CREAM
When I was five we lived on a ranch
still forty miles and forty years
away from electric power
We only got to eat ice cream
when hail lay deep enough on the ground
to be scooped into the old hand mixer
Many a hot evening in August and July
five of us sat on those hard ranch steps
looking out at the Western sky
Watching the black clouds and the grey
building and rolling our way
Silently praying our protestant Hail Marys
four for and Dad against
SHEETS TO THE WIND
Reminded by Marymae the other day
of Monday’s wash in Tuesday’s wind
and bending sheets to bring them in
It was about just enough starch
and thirty degrees below in March
And about how fingers got cold as hell
but I think it was really about the smell
Yes that was the part she wanted to tell
it was really the freshness of that smell
THE CROCUS
Loud crows and bright robins
promise an early spring
But they are of the sky
and can be easily fooled
Only the crocus
knows
WHAT A BOY LOOKS UP TO
Del Dube; thin cowhand in the rafters
helping Dad to build the shed
Torn jeans and old bent boots
too full of holes for walking
but good enough to ride
Stepping light
from beam to beam
held up by air and cowboy pride
and a young boy’s adoration
COWBOY POETRY
This is not the poetry of pulling calves
in a cold wind and a foot or so of spring snow
with only a vest and a bottle of rye
to keep you dry
This
is the poetry
of that calf that would have died
standing on shaky legs
to drink warm milk
from the cow that would have died