Farm

We are standing at the sink

Punch drunk

Washing dishes

They drop through our hands

Like spiders

Falling is such a 

Primitive move

I much prefer kicking

She exclaims 

I would fight my way

Out of any hole

I believe her

And know that she

Would do it with grace

The clouds pass

By the window 

We think of the farm

Where grandfather 

Sits on the porch 

Just another thing

We dreamed

After the farm

Was sold

To FedEx 

Now we are stuck 

In the tall building

No grass beneath our feet

Just noise

And shouting

Things which makes us 

Feel unsafe

We put the dishes

To one side

Lie down on the bed

Close our eyes

And imagine fields

Horses 

Cows

And sheep

How we would like to buy 

The farm back

But those days are done 

And here we must stay.