by Mike Bayles
Each winter fields rested
and in spring they found
new life. My uncle raised
cattle and crops with pride.
News played on television
during simpler times
while families sat together
and talked at the dinner table.
We had our dreams
of going to the moon
and in quiet times
we looked into clear skies.
Buildings in downtown
Minneapolis glistened
our pride, a mecca for most
while in St. Paul
cattle displayed at the State Fair
won ribbons while young boys
learned to farm.
My cousin and I walked
through pastures and we said
our uncles would never die.
We talked of wars,
as soldiers fought
on the other side of the world.
Little did we know that they
would be fought on our streets
Back then a man dressed in a cape
could leap over the tallest building
with a single bound. I long
to hold onto that dream.
The farm where my cousin once lived
was torn up for a highway
and we’ve fallen out of touch.
Our fathers have died.
Now I cry for them
and innocence lost
when the news says
we are killing each other
on the streets I once loved.
Mike Bayles, a lifelong Midwest resident, is the author of seven books of poetry and fiction. His most recent book is The Siouxland and Other Dreams, with poems about Northwest and surrounding areas, and mythology of the land. His writing is informed by his travels when he worked as a flagger/traffic control for construction and utility crews. He is expecting to publish his next collection of poetry this spring.
