there’s a party all this week, bring your friends just down the street
all you farmers, poets, friends, stop your labors, change your clothes
house is open starting slow, pace picks up, taking hold
all are here and endless drink, dance the floor off, nod and wink
food is plenty, house is big, pass the gravy, take a plate
wander round the upstairs rooms, doors are open, bright and warm
stroll the gardens, walk the path, guided tour, modern plants

open basement down below, fingers beckon, money flows
wild dancing on the stairs, new times have replaced the old
some of this, some of that, living frenzy, no way back
drinks are spilling dark and stained, floor is rubble, air is haze
carpet’s colored, curtains ripped, records scratched, tables tipped

the night is now well underway, people sitting, people stay
moon a quiet shadow down, light is dim, end of play
same old restless quiet talk, cozy sofa dark and soft
breath of air, walk outside, night birds hearing stars unwind
many sleeping where they danced, choose a haven safe the night
some are snoring, some are dead, some are dreaming, some have bled

sky is pink, hue of dawn, out of darkness, sky is blue
in the waking slow transition, of the cost a wary few
sun is shining, early day, clean up time has begun
do it this way, let’s try that, time is wasting, decide soon
if we wait the house will crumble, or at least rooms will cave
we don’t know if storms will batter all we know into dust
clean the house bit by bit, open windows, slow return
plant the garden leaving trees, clear the kitchen, clean the air
big decision, leave the past—smaller parties, no big blast.

—Rick Wood
Jacob Gates Road