Incoherent and void of teeth,
Old Man chewing his gums and spitting tobacco.
A dog sleeping on the porch with his paws
hanging over the edge, strumming the scraps of wood
like paper streamers parading down
on a high school gymnasium. In the fields,
children throwing husks of corn at critters dodging past -
rabbits, mostly, but once in a great while, to their delight,
a ground weasel.
Old Man staring out into the rows of thatched vegetable,
watching the children swell through their years.
They turn into adults, then into old men, then into corpses.
Then they are born again and again.
--Bryan S. Way just graduated from Bridgewater State University. In the following years, he will be living on the road and in the mountains, developing community with the precision of a vagabond, and exploring the depths of character that can only be attained through the willing rejection of comfortable living. And he will write about it.