Beneath the snow
the frigid wind,
the dirt,
lie little
ticking
time-bombs,
waiting for the warmth of spring
to set them off,
to explode through soil
in a carpet of luscious green…
they don't know
their reach for the sun
will be regulated
by
my lawn mower

The farmer needs to move his produce to market
But the harness for the mule is broken
And won't be fixed for another day

The farmer needs to go to market
but can't until the harness is fixed
The wagon wants to feel the road beneath its wheels
but can't until the harness is fixed
The harness wants to help but can't
it won't be fixed for another day
or so the tack man says
The produce knows that it needs to get to market soon
But can't until the harness is fixed
The mule?
He's happy in the barn and hopes
The harness is never fixed

In a small formation of ice
grasping to a New England stone fence
sits a seed
frozen
held there through no fault of it's own
frozen
held
unable to grow
to reach for the sun
until Spring's thaw

mark of a free man
is already our right
is cool
just a tool
as safe as any other tool

as common as the belt
is the most furious of all beasts
perfect for the following application
a good way to blow somebody's head off
more likely to **** you or someone you know

Easy to like
Easy to hate
Crooked or
just enabled?

Nothing tastes as good,
***** thin,
as alive feels

In thirty seconds everything can change
For better or not.