Farmhouse, 1969

 

Farmhouse, 1969

That summer in Missouri
a barn cat had kittens.
We set milk in saucers.
Diarrhea. Vet called us city kids, 
said you can’t give milk to barn cats.

That summer in Missouri
busy owls left pellets of fur, tiny bones
each morning by the outhouse
saying this could happen
to who, to you.

That broken-gate summer 
cows at sunup woke us 
poking heads in the open window
sliming sheets with drool.
Called us city kids, too.

That summer in Missouri 
we skinny-dipped in the muddy Meramec, 
washed ourselves under the pump
taking turns with the handle
and then saw a fuzzy screen, 
Neil Armstrong bouncing on the moon,
far away as Woodstock.

That summer in Missouri 
a neighbor invited us to chapel. 
And by God, he advised, Pick those tomatoes!
Next day we heard mid-sermon 
a hailstorm clobbering the roof 
of our flower-power microbus
packed with tomatoes safely inside.
Dumb luck? Providence? In appreciation 
we joined that little congregation 
and nobody called us city kids.

…..

From my book Random Saints
First published in Your Daily Poem. Thank you editor Jayne Jaudon Ferrer

Note: Summer of 1969 my wife and I, newly married, lived as caretakers of a farm near Eureka, Missouri. You could not make up a better name. Or a better summer respite from the madness of the decade. 

Hear me: