when they said Let’s Build an Empire
they dreamed of grazing men like cattle.
(now: ears have been tied with silver lanyards
and the soft, lavender-minded things have been
put out to pasture.)
the Farmer peacocks around holding
a popsicle of salt:
he was going to use it to cut corn but
now licks it with a long, lazy tongue.
Words have been difficult lately; but, I’ve submitted a few poems for possible publication, so there’s something.