Wild Angelo
Gazing outward from my front stoop,
Into the open expanse, Of bursting farm land,
Miles of deep New England primal soil,
Heaven and earth meets perfection.
Plowed by the crazy bearded one,
Angelo,
Who knows only of eccentric moments.
majestic budding maples and oaks stand firm,
Leaning lower to feel his wildness.
The wealthiest chicken manure is plowed under,
Slithering things sing with glee,
Receiving this rich farm gold.
Watching him plow,
I ponder his misunderstood, eccentric solitary life.
His unkept farm yard,
The last wild, unkept farmyard in this manicured town.
This unkempt farmyard,
An eyesore for all who run from the yummy smells, sights, from the yummy flavor of freedom.
Angelo,
No need to control the swirling disorder,
That is now Disney Land,
For the small wild ones, Who slither, hop, fly, run.
And if you listen closely,
You can hear the slithering, hopping, squatting, prancing, flying, crawling ones,
Song of delight, thanking Wild Bearded Angelo,
From the bottom of their raw glee,
As they fall into the untamed ecstasy of,
The smells, tastes, feelings and songs,
Of Angelo’s stinky, ungroomed farmyard…