Untitled - inspired by a line from Kathleen Lombardo’s poetry
Bob Rashkow
In the beginning, was the Farm
and there was a rustling and whirring of weather vane
and summoning to sun-up
and legions of birds flew to the call
from townships and unincorporated villages they came,
humming in unison,
composing symphonies
to their newfound natural reserve.
Next to arrive were the surveyors,
with instruments, with telescope-watching eyes
adjusting and scanning,
invading the serenity of the Farm
They looked at
puppies and kittens romping free amid the grass
pigs reveling in slop and muck festivals
cupboards and ironing boards
gleaming in the sunlight
the bright blue ovals and orbs of the kitchen walls
A man rang the bell
Invited himself in with politeness
We fed him donuts and coffee.
He fed us their plan
to change the Farm into something greater, bigger
something that would bring crowds of people
crowds of money to them
But what about us, we demanded
We love this place, where would we go, this is our home
Relax. Don’t worry, he answered,
We’re looking into this matter.
There’ll be a place for you.
Make sure you don’t go anywhere - at least not YET
