The Last Stand of the Neanderthal

My brother was a lightning rod,
For my father’s field.
We laid him down in the Town Fire Hall,
Buried him on Chapel Hill.
Blessed by a loving God.

My mother was hard and bent.
Never far from Church she went,
Or a field half grown…
Till God called her home.
Lucks like rain, looks like rain.

Five cows became three
Before my father’s anguished eyes.
He cursed born to nothing,
What he owned no one would buy.
He prayed for rain…
He prayed for more.

I expect bad luck,
To come with change.
I trust in less for a reason…
I do not pray anymore…
In this square of acres,
Called “Desperation and Need.”
My father died thirsty..
Lucks like rain, looks like rain.

Someday I will meet you,
Out on the horizon.
Someday I will see you all,
At the Last Stand,
Of the Neanderthal.

My souls hot welded,
To the metal of father’s plow.
I work this farm called “Constant Need,”
By three crosses on the hill.
The best I can imagine…
Is dull and unprepared…
Brother send me forked lightning,
To quiet all my needs.
Luck’s like rain, looks like rain.

My brother and my mother,
My Anger and my father..
We will meet you on the horizon
Someday we will see you all,
Out there on the horizon,
At The Last Stand..
Of the Neanderthal.

Two spavined mules in leather leads,
Know more about this land than me.
The plow barely scratches,
This hard and desperate ground…
And the mules moan,
“I’m growing bones…I am growing bones.”

Someday I will meet you,
Out on the horizon…
Someday I will see you all,
At The Last Stand,
Of the Neanderthal.