Pastoral Poem

By Esto Banga

Recently I walked out by Peter Akon's farm
in quite huge fields with warm waving wheatstalks
waving about a trillion little wheat-heads at me
and the birds squeaking and squawking
like crazy (a few drop dead off of some wires
near the road.)

Here and there the chipmunks and groundhogs sing
happy songs of unrequited love
a squad of badgers marches
left right
left right
one has a pegleg and can't keep up
it's glorious to be an animal in warm
sunshine until it rains then
hiding in a dark hole with a few worms.

On the pond the water is swooshing while
fairly small fish jump at popping bubbles
with beetles caught inside them
each beetle is afraid it will be the next
big meal for the
giant jumbo jig-jag jaws of
a dapply pond fish. I'd rather eat these
fish, but not if there are beetles in them.

This would be a good time for two
kids named Potato and Earl to come running
out to play. Earl has a spot on his neck,
let's hope it's not serious like cancer or
tuberculosis.

Now the wind is blowing and everyone lays
down on the ground so they don't get
blown over. Not me, though. I'm standing
here like a Magnificent Mountain. I flip my
arms up in the air and holler good job to
the Sky King who opens this big pocket
and puts the Sun inside for the night.

-- EB
©2000 Esto Banga

Esto Banga lives somewhere in Kentucky, where he can not usually be reached.