Here’s another old poem of mine from 2009. Funny, I remember the field trip rather well, but I don’t remember writing the poem!
The clapboard farmhouse sighs over the cold
stone foundation, relieved to see our group.
Our guide presents us her rescued charges,
heaping food and praise in equal measure.
The plow came to rest here long ago,
its steel teeth now dull from disuse.
Horses stand idle in the shadow of the barn,
swatting at memories of sweat and cruelty.
Fresh turkeys are spoiling in the sun,
their feathers now dense and unruffled.
Fat-backed hogs sleep like the immortal dead,
living mummies surrounded by their spoils.
And our children flit across the fields like glitter,
sweeping the farm in magical dust.
Photo credit: WATTAgNet.com, via flickr // CC BY 2.0