For John

the phone
the 'net
the laptop
not tools of the trade just now
but of the unemployed
searching
searching
deep sighs from the deep chair
a light over his left shoulder
as dusk descends
on the farm
time on his hands,
I'd rather be working
he thinks
though some moments are giddy
as when he finds a new idea
a new poem
a new song
in his 'free' time
paid for by the savings
or the unemployment check
it irks him
or worse
to be idled
when he is so ready
so eager
and so good at what he does
for what he touches
though it may take time
is pure gold
his heart is like that
with an ethic instilled
by a father
who was wiser than I ever knew