Old Barn

I see it each day on my drive to work
weathered and worn -- gray as ash
tilting foolishly into the wind.

Its corners worn down at horse-shoulder height -- 
sunlight and rain through the roof. I 
stop one day in my morning rush
to take a closer look.

A door blows open with a screech  
and I hear my father yell "Don't let the 
damn cows out what's wrong with you boy?"
and it takes me back to that time.

To my dreams of the future
and what it would bring
and how little I knew of life.

I think of him now in bed with no legs
leaning into his final hour and 
I wonder if he thinks of those days.
I wonder if he dreams.


 Kenny A. Chaffin - 4/15/01