Poems: Barn & No Chasers
The last boards and timbers of the old barn
loaded on the waiting truck
He noticed a rusted hay hook on the ground
where the loft ladder once stood
Thoughts and eyes welled up, turning away
I was resting on the bank after a day’s fishing.
A guy waded down the river and sat down.
We talked about trout and the day on the river.
We were old guys so the talk got philosophical.
He said time was running out for him and, as
far as he was concerned, they could preserve him
with Montana whiskey. I thought that was a good idea,
only if they would add a couple extra double shots for later.