the moon rose over the farmer’s field
harvested and waiting for winter’s snowfall
the cows sing their goodnight song
heading off to dreamy nights if cows even dream
sky yell-ooow orange red blue
watercolors all running together at the end of the day
I walk down the old road past mailboxes
hands in pockets--knit hat pulled down over my ears
my breath lingering in the air as I go
past the early american house
with a wooden swing on the porch that is inviting
where they probably sip lemonade on hot summer nights
but tonight is clear and cold
chicken soup simmering on the four burner general electric stove
or maybe it’s chicken and dumplings and hot biscuits
lights on in the kitchen and living room and in one of the bedrooms
old pickup truck in the gravel driveway
I don’t know what kind it is, yes I do it’s blue
I laugh to myself and keep shuffling down the road
no invitation to dine forthcoming
to this unkempt traveler who keeps looking for home
