Donkey

Every once in a while I’m in the right place at the right time. Sometimes I’m paying attention.

As I drove east on highway thirteen toward
Bayfield where they have the apple festival,
I saw you standing stock still, statuesque,
 as you stared at the side of the great red barn.
 
The next year I saw you, again motionless
standing alongside the barb wire fence,
so close to the hum of the hot highway
with your fuzzy ears flattened, listening.
 
Then you surprised me as you dropped
to your knees and rolled back and forth
on the dirty farm floor, four legs splayed
straight toward the August sky.
 
Lolled to the side, your long smile never
left your strange and happy head
as you rolled back and forth, back and forth.
I was laughing so hard I had to stop the car.