incoherency

Is it poetry or not?
Watching the mist fall today, and remembering
abandoned farmhouses gray in mists now gone

And the old apple trees gone wild,
The last sign of failed farms.

Thinking of history and how they tried
And failed, to farm the pinewood sand
Gray houses falling in

Thinking of history in the front seat
of the Oldsmobile Delta 88, Dad drove
Looking for places to hunt that fall
WJR playing college football from 200 miles off
Never mind a spark blanked the play by play
Every time the windshield wipers hit bottom

Thinking of history and now that too is history, all of it
The pine woods not so remote now,
The abandoned farmsteads fallen down
Or restored as camps
Retirement homes
Summer places,
Groves of gnarled apple trees blossoming in the falling mist.

That was what history looked like,
But I didn't know it,
looking out at the falling silver mist
thinking about history
And this is what history looks like now.