The dog finishes her business
And I notice something
As I help her up the stairs
And into her blankets —
Beneath the stars is
An unexpected figure,
Stretching near an
Unfamiliar car:
I smile and laugh
And hug my nomadic son
And his merry band of
Bog men and fairies,
Organic farmers and students,
Camping gear, drum and Mata lovers —
Beating Rhythms, Beating Hearts
Beating every last toxic thought
And senseless notion
From every corner
Of mine!
This article appears in When Weed is Legal.