This is a poem I wrote about one of the many memories I have with my dad. Alot of times he would grab us kids and we go for a drive on the back roads behind our house (most commonly before dinner - I think he was getting us of mom's hair for a bit) sometimes we'd stop, sometimes we would just drive around. He'd usually enjoy a beer while on the back roads - I would just enjoy spending time with dad (alway in the cab never in the back of the truck) every once in a while he'd stop and listen to a baseball game on the radio.
One time he parked on a ridge above a lake that was near our house and listened to the game for a while - the Seattle Mariners were losing badly so he shut off the game and we just sat there and listened to the frogs and crickets something that both me and him and my brother enjoyed - and that I still enjoy to this day, I will leave my windows open in the spring just I so I can hear the frogs, or sit for the longest time on one of my horses and just listen to them.
The Sound Of A Heart Beat - © 2007 SU
An echo of a dinner plate,
the lake sits in a forest depression.
Showing its age, the back half
has turned marshy, the rest shallow and warm.
Above the lake on the ridge
sitting in the Ford leaned against
his chest, windows rolled down
listening to frog radio.
The continuous chorus wraps
around the bull pines and mingles
with a heartbeat
no one could miss.
With daylight sliding from the evening
an occasional cricket makes itself heard.
Several octaves higher
than the frog concerto.
Sometimes I check to see if he’s asleep.
He is not. Hat tipped to nose my father
sits, enjoying the frogs as much as me,
in the best seats of the house.
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