A Farm On Fire

When I am to fall asleep, I tend to feel alone

as when I cannot see your face when we are

talking on the phone.

When I am to sing, I tend to sing in tune

with traffic as we’re trapped with drivers

with ears that expel fumes.

When I am to walk, strawmen make themselves at home.

Where icy streets have clumsy feets

refuse to let us roam. (and I dropped my phone!)

Now I do not feel abandoned, the

strawmen have had just as bad a day!

How the farmers took up torches

and forced them to run away.

Because the farmers had as much

a reason to fume as us:

the ears of corn they were to harvest

went up in smoke then fell as dust.