I sat down
To write a poem about
The way things used to be

But I can't remember
Much before dinner
So that thought's eluding me

Then I thought
A poem about
The life I'm living now

What came across
Was one big yawn
Perhaps a bit too loud

Then it occurred to me
Maybe the poem should be
Set in the near future

Before I even began
That light grew dim
So that path I didn't venture

Now here I am
With pen and paper in hand
In this conundrum of what to write

Until that time
The poem I find
I'll just kindly say goodnight

I dreamed of my father
crossing the fields
on his one-eyed tractor
mowing acres of sadness
heading east of a moon
that'll be gone tomorrow
and I waded the creek
beneath a ridge
where my mother is shearing
dead roses and the smell
of those flowers floating
to the foot of the mountains
reminds me of her hair
and my father's laughter
disappearing across the hill.