Exposition

Sam lives in a treehouse

he hates it down on the ground.

thinks there's too damn much goin' on

"it's all just a bucket for people to shit in."

is what he thinks.

Like bugs in a hurry

goin' nowhere,

acting like they know something.

Seeking knowledge,

denying the truth.

 

Sam is perfectly happy

alone with some poetry.

He writes lyrics for the birds,

they supply the melody

and the music is fine by him.

He can dance to it.

 

Sometimes he has to climb down

through the leaves and limbs,

get his feet back on the ground.

Last time, he walked to the fence

gazed at the road below

and shook his head.

By dark, he felt kinda dirty,

had to bathe in the crick,

his boney ass resting on the rocks,

head sticking out of the water,

he looked across the mossy bank

at a deep patch of sky

said, "Damn big bucket!"

 

 

Vol Lindsey