Job’s Farm
Huge black cones of manure
almost conceal the whitewashed barn[wd1] .
Above the broad green double doors:
Speak to the Earth & it Shall Teach Thee.
Job’s cattle, belted Netherlands,
a dozen bison and four llamas,
gaze at my parked car in wonder.
Two horses carefully ignore me.
The day features cloud sculpture
human hands can’t replicate.
God punished Job for loyalty,
then reversed course to reward him.
Our new political universe
applauds such moral bravado.
The Job who farms this flatland
votes against his own best interest
and sends his steers to market
with fear storming their senses.
No god expects this pragmatist
to spend a thought on a future
beyond the drifting summer sky.
The hip-roofed barn regards me
as the cattle do. Yes, I’m here
to critique the painted bible verse
and the manure heaped to sell
to the nearest fertilizer plant.
No corn grown on this farm. Grazing
and commercial bagged feed suffice.
Thunder will arrive later, dragging
its baggage across the landscape.
The creatures will shrug off the rain.
Job will tuck himself into
his cozy living room and learn
nothing the earth hadn’t taught him
long before some angel composed
that gray consolatory verse.
