Farmhouse, 1969

 

Farmhouse, 1969

That summer in Missouri
a barn cat had kittens.
We set out 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.

Summer sunup in Missouri
cows poked heads in the open window
and drooled on the sheets.
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,
almost as far away.

That summer friends went to Woodstock,
said we shoulda been there.
We said, you shoulda been here.

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 picked.
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.