The Easy Life
Out here the wind always blows.
That just seems to be how it goes.
A windmill makes my electricity.
I had it built for that explicitly.
Tumble weeds went tumbling by.
There was not a cloud in the sky.
Daydreaming was my pastime.
No motivation. It’s not a crime.
A windmill pumped my water.
Worked as faithful as my daughter.
Just her and I live out here, you see.
For her mother passed away on me.
Not a lot to do. No phone to talk through.
TV is mostly hit and miss.
The internet doesn’t exist.
We both do a lot of reading.
Occasionally, we will do some weeding.
The garden does well, if watered right.
The stars are really bright at night.
We will pan for gold, if in the mood.
Mainly, we are concerned with food.
It is a life not meant for all.
My daughter has been here since real small.
She was taught here at home.
Smart as a whip. Tough as bone.
One day a young man stopped by.
He was polite and acted shy.
He had plans to start a wind farm.
Lots of windmills with lots of arms.
Generate power for the city far away.
Said it would pay off big someday.
In the end we cut a deal.
We would be partners on this field.
He was right. We made a lot of money.
He married my daughter & called her honey.
As for me, I’m still here.
I kick back with a cold beer.
Watch TV, thanks to a satellite dish.
I still read whenever I wish.
But, most of all, I like to daydream.
Listen to the wind and scheme.
I could do more with my life, but I felt.
Ya can’t please everyone so ya got to please yourself.
—————————————-R.W. Johnson—–(2017)