sitting in the front row

Sun is dumb
rolling in a barnyard
chicken feces and cow dung
scattered in straw
the mud
the broken rows of corn
with footprints searching for a foot
the foot searching for an inch
the inch searching for a worm
the worm tight in his little tunnel
surfing the net with a terabyte
instead of an overbite
i saw the rooster on his fence
sipping a mug of whiskey
mostly empty
reading the Atlantic magazine
a smudge of ruby lipstick on his cheek
watching the gray squirrel
scratching closer to the oiled black sunflower seeds
in an eastern Pennsylvania breeze
overhead in the cold air
the scrawny hawk
with his GPS map
wearing aviator glasses
looking for a hero just for one day
found a dead rabbit on the rural road
but he was hoping for a lover
a large group of cattle
puzzled-looking large brown eyes
shuffled across the wide open field
of fast food fat green grass
and watched the cars
looking for America
the cat
his jacket oh-so-casually
tossed across his right shoulder
gazing curiously
adjusted his iPod to the Bee Gees
the chipmunk
leaving a note before walking off the stage
waved to the singer
sitting in the front row
and sleeping.