So Say

Working a field I saw clouds like worn sleeves.

The sky as faded and frayed as torn blue jeans.

I lifted my sweat stained straw hat. Dried my head with a rhubarb red hand kerchief.  

My eyes blinded by the sun.

I raked the pebbled, sandy earth. Small clouds of dust rose to my knees and floated  to the ground. Autumn rain would fall soon.

A weariness walked the calloused prairie soil.

The boss would let us go home early. I'd leave my clothes on a lake's shore and swim across the water.  I would sleep naked on the opposite shore. By early morn I'd swim to my old work clothes. The sun would take time to dry my rhubarb red skin. So say to the field: I am late. But I am as wise as worn sleeves and as smart as frayed blue jeans.