Sittin’ on the broad front porch,
hell fire danglin’ from hand,
I know the beauty of life at last,
of life at last unmanned.
I’d done my time a’grapplin’ with a gun,
shootin’ goop in thin straight lines,
bullets goin’ astray of course but
I took it as no sign.
The foam a different matter, squirtin’
– some might say released –
then growin’ twice its size in hollers
and before my eyes – increased.
I had tackled a job now five years old
– now cold long enough –
self-punishment? I do not know,
I just hate all this caulkin’ stuff.
But it’s part of the grander project, you see,
on which I prefer to muse,
while sittin’ on the broad front porch
and guess what? There is no other news.
No wait! There goes Josie –
chasin’ a trail of wild turkey.
A flock passed through a day ago,
gave a show slightly quirky.
First two then three then five then nine
atop the frozen marsh gathered.
They circled and scurried and gobbled and cooed,
one puffed his feathers in a lather.
Then of a sudden they trotted away,
left me wonderin’: Did they get it worked out?
For they had pow-wowed and parleyed, discussed and talked.
Hey, what are these turkeys about?
Just leavin’ behind a trail and a tale
for Josie to chase and explore.
And me I watch from the broad front porch
not a’wantin’ too much more.
Sittin’ on the broad front porch
a hell-fire a’danglin’ from hand,
lettin’ music and sunshine and turkeys dance
across this crazy free land.