The Anvil
There are some that blindly and happily plow
While the tractor screams "feed me some oil"
The scraping of gears and the gnashing of teeth fall softly on full ahead ears
A frown may give away something right
A smile can hide crooked affairs
Sun on the back rings a workman's guffaw
It's all in the bag with the coins
Call me tomorrow, come over here
See if we can figure this out
There in an eye winking curiously
By the campground, the bedside nightstand
My leg bones feel weary yet walk on they will
Holding for wheels and gravy on a plate full of nothing but shaking my head,
With a side bowl of nothing to do
Could be a time thing, could be a ruse
I will concede to confusion
Ideas spin 'round my crazy old head
Hard as (and light as) an anvil
The liver will wither and wax with the tide
Fine, if I can find the answer
To a question I've never been asked before
I hear time and time again
