Farmer Brown
Grandfather
only flirted with senility
on the days we rode to the stock auction
singing the same verse of
“I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles”
so many times
that even the sheep in the back
were happy to die.Weather was central.
Baseball was central.
The Russians were central.
The Bible was central.
Helping was central.
The other parts of life were alongside
the trail,
chicken feathers and onion skin.
The most difficult
thing he ever had to do
besides die,
was put his dog to sleep.
He was ancient and familiar,
a cross between the smell of dried leaves
and the taste copper pennies leave in
your mouth.
—Larry
Moffitt is editor of the UPI Religion
& Spirituality Forum. This poem,
written on the Oklahoma farm where he
grew up, is from his memoir, “Unroll
your carpet and I will read your
heart.” His email is
Lmoffitt@upi.com.
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