Ivan Donn Carswell Poems

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It was called Farm Fantastic, a catchy phrase,
and potentially a day’s wasted sweat.
Even after the event I can’t say it wasn’t,
and I’m kind of glad we went, for better
or worse, to see if it was. Actually, I went
because my Better had prefaced a day away
from the farm, her invites are harmlessly issued,
but rare. Whilst getting there was a torrid affair,
driving home I said sincerely it wasn’t wholly
wasted, but I’m short on ideas, I learned
nothing new. The displayed machinery
was all old hat, I inspected a tractor (or two),
priced a few dreams, bought some woollen
socks, watched alpacas and llamas disport
themselves in the ring, tasted some wine,
the sauvignon blanc was barely drinkable,
talked to some friends and was comfortably
taken aback when my Better said, Okay, let’s go.
Maybe I learned something new after all, not to
presume I couldn’t enjoy a day at the fair,
agricultural show, farm fantastic, whatever…
© I.D. Carswell

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