Home Work

Today is cleaning day in the pens
hauling out rich ripe manure
to satisfy the hungry mouths,
the enormous appetite of growing plants.
Aw-w-w, who minds the muck,
it can be washed off and has a
sweeter flavor than the corrupt smell
of cities, the breath of greed, of men
knee-deep in servitude.
A servant to animals?
Well, they thrive, don’t they,
the animals I feed, water, and bed down.
They don’t shake my hand, or pat my back,
or plant a knife between my shoulders.
Labor with earth restores me, pavements
hurt my feet, the clout of the Pharisees,
bombs by Philistines make my eyes swim,
upset my balance, safe at home, free
among fields, I gaze at the moon
riding in the calm pond I was born with.