Don's Ranch

By the light of a hangnail moon.

Don Rico mends a broken chair
As tables turn to face the rain
Behind the wall he made by hand
When hands were made for building.

Don Louis paints the saddles blue
To match the henhouse and his jeans
Tomorrow's eggs come home to roost
If no one's there to pick them.

Don Rimbaud cures another ham
And smiles into his handkerchief
His tales of wagging tongues collide
With gossip shorn from fables.

Don Felix tunes the radio
While harvesting the current crop
A shock of bulbous hair reflects
The light of a hangnail moon.



  1. I love your new & improved commenting style! In this case, you might mean (1) I read it twice because I couldn't believe anyone would actually risk putting something like this on the Web, (2) it wasn't any more comprehensible the second time, so I gave up, or (3) I was field-testing my new Dramamine prescription.

    Unlike the basic "I like this" or "this really makes me angry," the new comment style gives me something to chew on while I make up the next monologue. Like a milk bone, only with fewer calories.

  2. I read this a third time today.

  3. What a rotten time to run out of milkbones. Looks like it's sponges for me. Or curtains.