I felt pretty stupid in brown pants,
brown jacket, shirt, shoes and tie
at the peach farm. I cast them off!
The young peaches clung to the limbs
like sag-resistent muscles.
It's a good place to have a pony. Ditto
a heartbeat, something long, a Spanish-
English dictionary and lots of water
to remove stickiness. Bees are encouraged,
so too worms in the soil and every evening,
bats. Quadratic equations, not so much so.
Only an old dog is buried there.
I can't find the anvil
but then "Go find the anvil"
turns out to be some kind of joke
at the peach farm. The owner started paying
for the peach farm by selling a motorcycle
then selling peaches. Walking through the trees-
how different from looking for a Ph.D.
Yet also not. One good thing about
being unable to sit beside you
is seeing the back of your head in the leaves.
How far we are from kissing
our damage deposit goodbye.

To read more poems by Dean Young, please click here to purchase JUBILAT 4