Big Tex and the Battenkill Maiden

By Bonnie Lyons

August’s newborn twin calves are packing on the pounds
and the lush goldenrod is now a browning omelet.
Already the maples are busy making their gaudy costumes
for the fall spectacular. For their finale they offer their finery
to the air in the world’s best striptease.

Kingfishers, blue heron, jays, wild geese.
cawing crows and complaining catbirds.
Chests outthrust, the merganser families float by
in their own river parade. Paying no attention,
the turkeys talk over travel plans. Cedar waxwings
like once popular Saabs are out out out,
chickadees and Subarus, very in right now.

Fly fishermen in fancy outfits catch and release.
Poor farmers try to hold on, just hold on.
Eyes closed, head out the car window,
our Airedale exhales audibly like a true yogi.
Big Tex and the Battenkill Maiden,
rusty flatbed trailer and paint-peeling motorboat,
sit close together on the horse farm meadow.

My man is too trim to be called Big Tex
and I shed my maidenhead fifty years ago.
Clear Brook Farm will close on Columbus Day
and we’ll clear out soon after that,
traveling back from the Battenkill
to Texas like the birds..