Voices Of My Neighbors

I’m in love with the slow voices

of the old timers in my town.

You can say most anything to them

and their reply is some variation of

ayuh, it can be like that.

What poetry there is in a farmer’s voice

dark and loamy, slow as a row of beans

breaking ground on a warm summer night

or the plow guy resting in his truck,

heavy and tired after a long night

pushing snow.