A man paces
the edge of his property,
his eyes darting back and forth.
There is a younger man,
who is not young,
an even older man
who can barely walk.
No trace of a woman, 
no clothes hanging
in the breeze, 
no flowers in the flowerbeds.
The interstate came through his farm.
No reason to get up in the morning.


A car with big fins sits
in the driveway.
White plastic chairs 
outside one of the doors
where the men watch suns set
over the truck stop.
Three men
without cows,
no hay to cut.
no fields to plow.