This corn is just corn
and the words are just words
sitting on a page like a barn in a field
and behind the barn, a boy
among the chickens
with a stick for gathering the cows
on a path worn by cows walking in a line.
Heaa up there
He waves the stick.
The sun shines among shadows.
The wind blows.
The birds don’t rustle
because they’ve seen this painting.
The corn is just corn
and the words are just words
sitting on a page like the plow
being pulled pulled by the mule.
Gee
Haw
Whoa
Come up there.
