Tribe

 
 April bound and tied to ground
I’ve tilled before.
March
wore me like an old pair of jeans,
April means I can change.
 
I’m not an Apache and
she doesn’t let me
forget it.
 
So being sick of sowing
and growing crop after crop
I’m going to stop
and open
a fish farm,
 
there’s always a farm in it
dreams there’s no harm in it
seems that
I’m April bound.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.