Hoping for a small success and, if you’re a poet, that’s about all to hope for.


Digging Ditches

Success, like love, is always hanging close
Can’t be thrown and tied before the bell
Not a rodeo event at all, you know,
it slips up behind you, whistling,
taps you when your feet are wet
and all that’s on your mind is proper boots

Should it come along, I hope it’s small,
undemanding and just a living in it
You’ll laugh and say the hope’s well founded
Words on paper don’t make writing,
but men’s legs aren’t made like horse’s
Too heavy a load and they begin to shake

But hell, a man’s a fool not to wish
for evidence he’s got a word to say
that now and then someone finds worthwhile
There’s ego and sweat in digging ditches too
Everyone digs in something, looking up
to see how near it is to quitting time

Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection

THE SMELL OF TWEED
AND TOBACCO

available here in print
or as an e-Book
in your favorite formats.