If You’re Not From Vermont . . .

(a form change poem with thanks to David Bouchard, If You’re Not From the Prairie . . .)

 

If you’re not from Vermont,

You don’t know trout.

You can’t know trout.

Trout are beautiful, so pretty, so fantastic,

So lovely.

You just can’t know snakes.

You can’t know those toad eaters, those killers,

So mean, so slimy, so colorful,

So scaly, so strong.

If you’re not from Vermont,

You just don’t know our animals.

 

If you’re not from Vermont,

You don’t know me.

You just can’t know ME.

You see, my hair is water;

My head is the rocks;

My feet are the water plants swaying.

I’ve never felt what it would feel like.

I’ve always remembered what it was.

My home is Vermont,

And it nice to have trout.

Fishing Boy got up every night this month to observe the phases of the moon!  He says he is tired!

I am friends with crickets.

I am waving to the sun.

I am the ruby of the night.

I am bloody red moon.