A Day on the Farm, Pt. 2

A grackle perched on a fence post
beneath an electric blue sky
where mountains and fat landmasses of cloud
do their continental drift thing.

Tiny sets of wings,
blue, yellow, orange,
like the petals of wildflowers,
flutter up from the grass.

The wind and the trees are twisting
together (like they did last summer
and who knows how many summers before).

A sparrow is sitting on the driver’s
side mirror of a beat-to-shit pick-up truck
in the middle of a clump of grass and weeds
grown conspicuously tall
on a small square of the property
where all else is kept fairly low
to the ground.

Keys still in the ignition.
Battery still good.
Radio works.

Motherfuckin’ Chuck Berry.