It is possible
To fall asleep
In a hay wagon
Filled with fresh
alfalfa, pitched onto the wagon
From the field,
displayed behind, now barren,
Freshly mowed, freshly raked,
Skinned, like boys
Who left Harry’s Barbershop
After a Saturday night clip
One never stays asleep
On a wagon
Wagons rock,
Tractors snort
Wagon sleep has
moments when
One drifts in and out
Unaware of a gopher
scurrying away
from the wagon wheels
Unaware of the nearby
Pheasant seeking a new ditch
Resting now and then,
until arrival,
You stack alfalfa
each pitchfork
One by one,
beside the barn
to feed livestock this winter