CLOUD PLOWED FIELDS

CLOUD PLOWED FIELDS

I hear that line at an Austin open mic.
and I want it – actually I want it back
this is my line, how did he find it first

In any case – I hear the line, and Bam!
I am back in a cloud scudding sun baking
Saskatchewan summerfallow summer

Black lands between the glowing gold
John Deere with its hard iron hooves
ripping up the roots and seeds
of the flowers no-one wanted
call them weeds

Sometimes cutting worms in half
I hear that they grow back

While the little poet sits
by the caragana hedge
choking on the flowers
no-one wanted