Gary Blankenship
Song of Myself #9- Farmer
Song of Myself #10 - Lunatic
Song of Myself #9 - Farmer
8. 9.
The farmer stops by the bars of a Sunday
and looks at the oats and rye,
I watch the river divide
one side the faster main course,
the other a slow byway
known for its trout and swim hole
I watch the quick stream flow
over the barrier dam through rapids,
the lazy ripple across gravel shelves
that may hide gold or a fool’s riches
A fancy parlor chair
rabbit hutch
bloated goat
styrofoam cooler
floats by from a flood
many days upstream
far enough away for worry
too far away to break the Sabbath
I watch the river
until the evening wind
rises and head to home
where dinner, wife, chores
and a nip of the neighbor’s corn waits
The town’s bars not open Sundays
Song of Myself #10 - Lunatic
10. The lunatic is carried at last to the
asylum a confirmed case,
Lost in the pile of brick,
musty floor in a damp wing,
my cell (though they called it my room),
in the non-dreams
that disturbed his no-sleep -
I saw a future
where bread was sold by the slice,
water drunk from clear skins,
wallets clipped to belts were used to communicate
great distances,
clothes were so minimal to seem optional,
travel was by flying boats though the passengers
never seemed to arrive with their baggage,
human and machine melded into one,
involuntary bondage was outlawed,
voluntary bondage was encouraged,
paintings moved in boxes hung on the wall,
honey bees went the way of passenger pigeons
and at the end of time
when the sun was but a cinder
men still considered other men
the most dangerous prey
When I did not wake no longer settled
on a cot in his mother’s bedroom*
no one believed my stories
nor cared
It was time for lunch
peanut butter sandwiches
and orange juice were on the menu