My Father

Sometimes I see
my father's face in mine,
though he never wore a beard,
or let anyone see his dick.
We are two very
different people.
After sixty years
in California,
he still had
a Midwestern mind.
When I think of his father,
Grandpa,
I realize
that my mind
is a farmer's mind,
and I'm a little
Midwestern, too.

Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.

Workstation

From here I survey the world,
and communicate with it.
My desk lamp is a UFO,
its light a tractor beam,
pulling me to new dimensions.
Or else it is a diving bell,
carrying me deep
to otherwhere.
I struggle to bring
the loveliness outside
inside.

Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.