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Poetry

(rd king dot net)
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American Summer

Poems written while traveling.

Traveling Home 


All I knew was:   it was a day in July, a dutifully
hot afternoon, where I was seeing a water tower

that rose above the plain and its gathering of trees
grow slowly larger.  And it was only this

in consort with the grazing heifers and still windmills
that renewed everything in their simple ways

so that while I drove, each car that passed
or we passed held families much like our own

doing much the same things we too found necessary
to exist:   the wife barefoot and reading

an enormous book, the kids in the backseat
trying anything that might relieve the seamless tedium.




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