Walt deYoung’s Farm 

Photo courtesy of Google 

deerflies bittin crazy this morning

one or another’s attention suddenly swattin switchin subjects,

everyone geared up

farm talkin at once,

and sooner or later when we chime in,

when we go jammin that perfect flow from one into the next,

Grandma clangs her impatient “breakfast!” bell!

then all praise to cowgirl boot feet,

that familiar good-honest-stink of endless afternoons

leavin the crew completely wasted

after mowin and rakin and bailin hay

now all bundled and golden in Walt’s fields

and later we can only lay out there in that killer Minnesota summer sun,

preposterous hopeful comrades verdant and gracious,

dumbfoundedly serenaded by 3 or 4

snorting tubby black barrel horses

and at day’s end,

my stubby orange pencil scribbles on,

somehow guided by nameless northcountry lakes

endlessly blasting tornado-hot July winds at our backs

throughout these buoyantly hopeful Aquarian days

Bemidji, MN

7/14/73 (originally written)