Bushmills

somehow this seemed easier before…

the tractor of my dreams remains in the land of dreams

in good company, laughing at me wryly with many others
as they sit around the fire at night and chuckle at my continued silliness...

I'm still… hauling the logs by hand out to the trails

it is closer than a gym and costs no money…

it seemed easier before

that’s what I tell myself anyway…

with only the March and April racks left to fill

I am remembering my Irish grandfather…

after a long day of pounding nails well past his 60’s

he’d sit in his stuffed chair in the evening

and call out to my grandmother...

Hazel… will you bring me my “medicine”…

soon she  would enter like an angel,

carrying a clear glass of amber with 2 ice cubes

and I’d watch him sip the physical aches and pains away

as his crooked smile would return and he’d speak of his day…

someday I’ll get that tractor, at least that's what I tell myself anyway…

for now, though, I have my Bushmills,
 in a beautiful cup... shimmering with the melted ash of trees...