|Ten Wooden Buoys on a Road, oil on board, 24"x48, Steven Rhude|
Poem for a Byland
Ten wooden buoys ly'in on a road; in a liquid city, they reap what they sow.
Nine wooden buoys in the land of the fey; can't set their pots til the middle of May.
Eight wooden buoys carved from the tree; when it came to a price, they couldn't agree.
Seven wooden buoys rowed to the dance; two got drowned, the rest were in a trance.
Why did the wind blow em of course?
Did they hear the women wail til they were hoarse?
When did the young leave their fair shore?
Where did they go, do they hear the night waves roar?
Six wooden buoys look'in for their boat; lost their quota and the rope don't float.
Five wooden buoys - one was fat; got a job in Toronto as a bureaucrat.
Four wooden buoys on a train out west; came back home in their Sunday best.
Three wooden buoys, their sills were rotton; the rames picked clean, they scoured the bottom.
How many cuts can they endure?
Will the internet make'em feel any more secure?
What will they seek and where will they go?
Did they know who was their friend and who was their foe?
Two wooden buoys scolded the fools; they closed their stores and they closed their schools.
One wooden buoy drew his sword; king of nothing, like a lion he roared.
No wooden buoy mark'in the trap; you can find the key under the welcome mat.
What will lift this pall over their place;
where the presence of absence cracked the code.
Did it have to happen - was it really a race?
Ten wooden buoys goin' down the road.
Steven Rhude, Wolfville, NS.