Mitching

Sometimes in the mornings, while driving to work,
My mind drifts away on its own.
So I wield my lassoo, bring it up with a jerk
And haul it back in with a groan.

It often drives on past the factory gates
To a lake at the foot of a hill,
And there it will lie nibbling pecan and dates
By the waters so clear and so still.

Far away from the clatter of roaring machines,
Far away from the manager’s curse,
It will paint golden pictures of countryside scenes
Annotated by free-flowing verse.

One day, in the future, I’ll follow my mind,
Drive on past those factory gates,
And find that still lake with its contours defined,
And stretch out nibbling pecan and dates.