Just a Red Barn

It sits like a fat lady spreading her red skirt.
It looks self-satisfied holding close memories of my childhood;
Memories of the late summer’s sweet scent of bailed alfalfa,
Memories of the warm fall breath of the calf,
Memories of the barn swallows’ territorial dance with my dog.

From the ridge of the roof, sitting on warm tin
I saw the world while on the edge of womanhood.
My eyes scanned the snow capped Rockies at the edge of my domain.
I watched a tractor in the near distance kicking up dust in a field,
And nearer watched the workers scar the earth for a new school.

From the inside I watched golden dust sparkle in the sunlight
Dancing through the floor of the loft.
Standing still in black shadows I listened to brown field mice scutter against the wall
And heard the low contented sound of the cows in the adjacent stall
Waiting to be milked and fed.

The farmer and his wife have passed away.
The old red barn is empty now and does not know its days are numbered.
It must move its fat ass and make room for progress,
For plain new architecture
That will shelter only mediocre memories.

(Motivation for this came from Cate.)