Out in Minnesota
the winter brought
cold, desolate thoughts.
The farm cried for attention
to those seven children.
Korean War 1950 brought
out the man in me.
My hands grew numb on
the frontline; the cows
begging to be nourished.
The definition of children:
seven members of the tribe.
The theory of practical experience
for those young boys.
Train a child in the way he should go . . . .
Warm, sunny beaches, far
west as can be.
He used to say, “People are too busy to work.”
Cracked one callus over another.
Cement poured down the back.
Day one saw hot hands and faintness,
later felt the presence of an angel.
In seven days the earth was made.
In seven more days, I bowed my head.
There is no distance on this earth
as far away as yesterday.