Jutted out square jaw,
horse gruff voice,
Smoky Bear Campaign
Hat pulled low almost
covering his intense
glaring eyes. Hat Brim
slung rakishly low,
three regulation fingers
above the bridge of his nose.

Criticizing profanities
hurled from his mouth
like exploding grenades,
tongue lashing orders
and corrections his
stock and trade.

Everything about
him is tight and
fully squared away.

Gets in your face
so close you can
smell what he had
for lunch, barking
spraying projectile
spittle that standing
at rigid attention you
cannot wipe away.

Hard earned lessons
taught and learned
that last for a life time.

Tormentor, teacher
mentor, hated at first,
respected and loved
by the end.

Old Dogs live a basic straight forward
life, they sleep, wake, ***, eat, defecate,
sit or lay in the sun, sleep some more
and repeat. One day much the same as
the next. Once in a while they chase a
cat, bark at a passing car, but not often,
or for long. Never breaking a sweat.

I can not help but notice that my old
human guy life has become not so very
different than that of my old canine buddy.
Everything reduced to the simplest
of basic animal equations.

That first night sky in the high desert
was fully unexpected, with no moon yet
the lighted canopy of brilliant heavenly
sparkling bodies appeared so dense and
near that at first view I felt perhaps I must
duck down so as to not bump my head
into a star or two.

City and town skies are muted by city lights,
only a few stars visible even on a clear night.
High Desert skies are so densely packed it
takes your breath away, you can sit for hours
with your mouth agape in contemplative
wonderment, mesmerized by the sheer vast
splendor of the heavens dense blanket of
shimmering lights out into infinity and beyond.
No telescope required.

I was head down at my desk,
it came wafting, on a whispering
breeze through my open window
like a belated bouquet of spring
flowers, the refreshing long awaited
essence of life on our planet, gentle
new autumn rain upon thirsty earth,
plants and yellowing summer grass.

No other ethereal scent is like it.
The enticing fragrance of rebirth
and replenishment.

And what a fine, long needed
gift of nature this is.

Scant moments after sun rise they appear,
Shadows in a distant field,
Moving like ghosts upon a sea
Of shimmering dewy green.
They toil, bent onto their work,
No music, no joyful banter,
Only their laboring breaths,
Visible in the morning air.

An aged tractor crawls along,
Out in front of them,
They stoop and toss yellow squash,
Into it's trailer bin.

Fifty acres by Noon they're told,
"Get it done, or get gone!"
"No Medical Insurance here,
No Retirement Plan,
No promises or guaranties,
It's work for the moment,
Only if WE please."
Yells out the Overseer!

Noon brings the heat,
Another fifty acres of zucchini.
Nothing changes,
Not even the scenery.
Hats and hoods,
Long sleeves and scarves,
Shields from the sun, now
the heat they must endure.

Still they stoop and toss,
With ****** hands and painful spines.
"Get it done today or no work for you tomorrow.
Don't get hurt there ain't no Workman's Comp."
They are harshly reminded.

I watch and read a book upon my shady porch,
My promenade to the world.
Morning coffee giving way,
To afternoon's ice cold Lemonade.
I observe from my distant knoll,
like a unfettered bird in the sky,
detached and alone.
As if I and the people in the field,
Reside on different worlds.

I sit there in my orb, with soft hands and body,
The products of a privileged life being a Native Son.
Worked in three piece suits, fresh shirt and ties,
An education, crafty sales ability, my convenient alibis.

They come from the South,
From poverty and dead ends,
A border or two away,  
Doing  work that only slaves would do,
Back in yesterday.
To put food on our tables,
Grease the wheels of our industries.
Put meager food in their mouths,
and fuel their own life's fantasy's.
Most do not speak our language,
Yet still our life they crave.
We do not welcome them as we should,
They must sneak in like thieves in the night,
Just to be our willing serfs.

What real difference them to me?
Geographic locations of birth, little more.
That's not really hard to see, If only
we stop and care to show some empathy

A ****** to their hardship,
I watch humbled and inspired,
This display of their commitment,
Their indomitable human spirit.

The hours pass and still they follow,
Up and back crossing the fields,
Chasing that same dammed tractor,
Walking miles, going no place at all.

While I've done other things,
Leisure, cardio stationary bike,
(No need to take a hike.)
Intellectual stimulation enjoyed,
Eaten twice and rested well.
But not so those people across the way,
They now merely indistinct bent shapes,
Upon, an ever darkening landscape,
Smudges of smoldering black forms,
In a vast field of breeze tossed olive drab.

Dawn to dusk being their fate,
Their tomorrows all the same.
Hard work and a willingness to do it,
Their hoped for passports, to "Possibility",
and for staying in the game.

I have decided "It's All *******!"
Try buying something on line
or using an 800 phone number,
you wait on hold forever and can't
speak to a real person, or maybe
finally you reach a living breathing
human, but quickly discover they
reside in a land far far away, you
can not understand much of what
they are saying, it's all *******!
Try to get waited upon in a store
by someone that actually knows
something about what they are
selling and where the hell it is.
Watching the news on any channel
with all those opinionated, over
explainer talking heads, desiring
to come away smarter or better
informed than when you turned
on the set, but you don't, 'cause
generally speaking it's all *******.
Watching and listening to the endless
line up of politicians, of either party,
as round and round they go where
they stop nobody knows, 'cause it's
all confusing, incredibly redundant,
solves no problems *******!
Try to talk to almost anyone you
meet or even know, good luck
'cause it's mostly half truths and
jaded off the wall opinions and
unbelievable unreliable *******!
He said, she said, they said, way
too much misinformation, in the
end it's all just a huge meaningless
waste of of your time bunch of
fresh, deep, and odoriferous
*******!

Possible solution:
Unplug, hunker down and read
a good book, pet your dog, bounce
a child on your knee, take a walk
in Nature, exercise, paint a picture,
write a poem or story, maybe sing
and or dance like no one is hearing
or watching, because my worn out
demoralized friends none of these
last things just listed, are in any
way odorous bovine defecation.

He fought a war and came back alive,
not quite right in body or mind.
Years spent alone on the streets,
scrounging for nickels and dimes.

A kindly veteran passer-by gave
him a Ten dollar bill and a smile,
much to the elated man's surprise.
Where upon he bought a jug of wine,
two cans of soup, and on a whim a
scratch off lottery ticket too.

It snowed that night freezing temps
blanketed the city. Two days later
under a bridge he was found dead
in his tent by an aid worker.
Three empty jugs of cheap wine
beside his frozen body. A roll of
brand new fifty dollar bills in his
pocket, along with a two day old
Bank deposit slip noting an opening
balance of Twenty thousand dollars.

And so one overlooked, forgotten
man died all alone, no longer needing
to panhandle for nickels and dimes.