Original Poems

Alabama – 7 (of 10)

(Part 7)

I wandered the detritus of
And old deserted farm;
Abandoned places, I have found,
Are not without their charm —

It’s just off of 331,
A little north of Brantley:
I had a walking stick in hand,
For this can well be chancy,

But more for dogs, than anything.
I clambered over rubble —
The burnt out garden in the back
That looked like razor stubble —

And found an ancient wagon, with
Archaic iron wheels,
Whose little flat expanse had carried
Countless many meals

Or led to their production.
It’s amazing to think how
The life that was so long ago
Is here, at hand, right now.

There’s a “FOR SALE” sign out in front,
And agent, name of Pruitt;
And if I had the wherewithal
I just might try to do it,

To call the number, try to buy,
A whole new life to enter —
But I am not a farmer, I
Am more of a commenter.

So back into my car I go.
To aimless drive, and ponder
About the whims of history,
And wonder as

I wander

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