Hoe Boy's Reality Show
From his house the farm land sloped
toward the river beyond,
past water towers to town,
and at night, the horizon
bloomed the yellow white story
of the highway, its business,
anonymous and pure here,
and he hardly thought of the
barn, black and yawning, loose tin
on the wood shed, fences that
needed fixing, displeasure
or regret, and even this
first chill wind, rustling through
leaves
brooked no uncertainty for
him; unworried, he rocked till
a star fell across his wish.
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