The Poet Meets A Farmer

Credit: Unsplash / Thomas Rehehauser

I’m going to get sentimental on you now,
not nostalgic — this isn’t the past.
Rather the lifelines of a future,
whether or not it will come
to pass. But let’s go ahead
and make an agreement
if it stands: I’ll do the dishes
if you plow the fields;
I’ll clean the vegetables,
if you cook the meals.

I’d rather not write in one place,
so I’ll be happy to go on adventures.
And if you need your space — 
well, we’ll have 20 acres.
The tv (if we have one) 
will never play sports,
and I won’t have to feign interest
in men running around in tight shorts.
What a pleasure, to never again see golf
upon a big bright screen
when outside it’s the perfect day
to go enjoy Spring.

I love how you remember little things — 
lavender, lavender, a bottle of lavender;
you create patterns of sentimentality
with the small things you remember
Oh and I can’t forget the music:
Brass, jazz, folk, blues.
And how easily you cry when I sing a tune.

You’re much too beautiful for one man;
and I’m much too strong for one woman.
You can talk for hours and hours,
running circles around my head:
microbes, soil, compost — “where was I again?”
Go back 200 billion years and take a left,
that’s where it all started…

You talk about your passions
and why you want to pursue them,
I chuckle inside cause it sounds familiar.
Even though you work with soil
while I work with words,
we both want to teach the world,
through heart and action,
about slowing down and giving affection.

I’ve ventured too far down my own
rabbit hole; if I continue I’ll surely
apologize for allowing such wonderings.
But if nothing else, I’ve learned more
about what I’m looking for
in a friend, lover, and mate
from a man that’s much too beautiful
to have ever given me the time of day — 
and yet I found him in my room
spinning circles around my head as he spoke,
holding back tears when I sang,
and taking drives to have a toke.

So forgive my sentimental rant
of future lines I cannot tell,
I couldn’t help but write down
the internal imagery spinning a tale.
And if I’ve only been blabbering on,
then my words you may withdraw.
Otherwise, let’s make an agreement
should it stand: I’ll do the dishes,
if you harvest the land.

*originally published on connerleecarey.com; part of my 365Poetry project, #13.

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