toiling away in the wide open fields of my mind
i dreamed of becoming a writer
making a living rustling birds from the brush
plucking them from the sky
and placing them into rows on a page
but life came calling
and the mortgage demanded payment
so i went to work selling my time to the machine of commercialism
turning away from those open fields to focus on factory floors
where industry clanged away
and blindfolded automatons worked eight hours
with a lunch and two cigarette breaks
the money came
validating my talent to stir emotions with words
and drive sales
then children arrived
and through them I was able to see once more
wide open fields
basking in sunlight
green grass waving in the breeze
only, there was no money there
and the real world has harsh demands
so every night
as I tucked them in
and told them lies about life
I’d grasp their hands and we’d run away
for a little while
into those fields
where imagination is king
and no one can tell us what to think
then i’d kiss them goodnight
knowing that in a few hours
I’d be back inside the machine
with a gun barrel pressed against my temple
the children are getting older now
and we take fewer trips into those fields
as they prepare for their own descent
into the real world
***
