Ballad of a Well Digger
They came out of Missouri with a forgotten name something ancient like a founder of Rome if Rome was benign or like a John Ford movie with sons and daughters not looking for trouble One of those sons the one with green eyes and thin disposition had a cocksure distaste for water witching he dug down and found himself waiting for noon with the notable exception of murky days This son, he climbed out once his eyes had adjusted and in dire need of a drink he saw what he had was gone the bed frame, the cast iron, the stowed away cash hell, even the Labrador his daughter asked him if he had any regrets about where he had dug his reply came uneasy If I went deeper down I might have drowned but I’m not blameless not even in the dark I sure hope she finds whatever it is she’s running from
I had one of the rare moments on Friday where I saw things in a new way. Trust your gut, they say, and I often don’t. So I’m going easy into it and see if this lighter mood sticks around. Fair warning that there some truth and fiction in this one, as my poems often have. But it’s in your hands now, readers, and you’ll have to make it your own.
This poem is one of those efforts. I had visions of a great five-piece epic, but it says what it says all in one. Five cheers for tidiness. I hope you like my folksy spin on things this time around. I’ve been very proud of my last couple posts (even though last week’s EXORCISE! the DEMONS! was a re-run, it's one of my favorites). Those are two tough acts to follow, but I have an in with the producer.
Very rich images.
Thanks, Paul!