He scratches a scruffy cheek with dirty fingernails
Squints into the steam of his fresh black coffee
Bending stiff extensions on brown calloused hands
He loops two securely through his favorite mug
On a computer screen run little characters like black ants
His tapping fingers send them scurrying all in one direction
He spent the day cultivating fields; wheat and barley
Now he fertilizes a crop of words with weary sighs and caffeine
Thoughts tumble through his mind like hay through a baler
These; tied and stacked, are put aside for livestock feed
The animal of creativity bellows from the fence
The good poet farmer answers to its ever growing need
Fields begin to blossom on the liquid crystal display
Fruit is hanging on the vines; hopefully full and lush
Wonders as he often does when hauling produce to market
Who will partake of his sweat, tears and sometimes blood?
Weary yawns come longer with greater regularity
The field brought to harvest, his sunburned neck is tired
He looks despondent into the cold dregs of his cup then up
And smiles at a new creation laid out in perfectly printed rows
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