History

Let's see if we can make last week's entry into something approaching a poem. Here goes:

History

Watching the silver mist fall, remembering
abandoned farmhouses gray in mists now gone
and the old apple trees gone wild
last sign of failed farms

Thinking of history and how they tried
and failed to farm this pinewood sand
gray houses falling in

Thinking of history, gray houses passing in the mist
from the front seat of Dad's Delta 88
hunting for hunting places
some game on AM from another world
play by play blanked
by the lightning spark each time
the windshield wipers
hit bottom

And now that too is history, all of it
gray houses crumbled and gone
groves of gnarled apple trees
blossoming in falling silver mist

Thinking of history
and that was what history looked like,
if I'd only known it
looking out at the falling silver mist
thinking about history
And this is what history looks like now.