Husks II

blog corn 2 Walking past the cornfield the other day

I revisited my reformed headbangers

Boomers who’d left the sixties in their wake

My long-haired rockers now shorn

Their garish cranberry locks a respectable brown


No longer rocking or swaying in the wind

Plumper, fatter

They lean in close conversing

Shunning whispered secrets of rendezvous and romance

In favor of meeting minutes and agendas


Ready to be plucked up and join society

I miss their nascent days

When long red wisps of hair flailed in the breeze

And their bodies spoke of promise

When they craved the kiss of the sun

Rather than to ripen in its embrace.


I wonder if once in a blue moon

Under the glow of its yellow light

If they may still

Let their hair down

Shake beads of perspiration into the midnight sky

Let loose and howl

For all they’ve lost

And all they’ve gained


For potential

And fulfillment


For the hope of harvest

And the day when it comes due.


Corn at Blue Moon