The San Joaquin

The San Joaquin Valley is infinite,

Livestock, wheat, and wine grape vines…

Alfalfa fields and rivers forever;

Mountains on the horizon lines.

There is something about the valley,

Never letting go of your heart…

You never forget the hard-working poor,

Or your soft spot for Mexican art.

I endured triple digit weather,

Tule fog that blinded one’s sight…

Looking back a half century later,

The Valley still seems “Just right”.

Pockets Full

It was an overdue dream come true,

Seeing you step down from the plane.

My heart was full till you flew away,

As my pockets filled with rain.

Waiting decades for another visit,

Not in a dream, but a car or train…

I’ve finally started to let you go,

While slowed by pockets full of pain.

Elderly Hobo

The hobo life was romantic

Until the heart of the heartland changed…

Now when one leaves the box car,

Only an uncertain world remains.

The romance of the unknown,

Now keeps me awake at night.

The world is now unforgiving

Though shelter and food are in sight.

It’s easier to keep moving,

While staying close to the rails…

A lack of kindness is evident,

When trust in my hard work fails.