Paint chips fall from the barn door
Old man stands in the middle of the dirt floor
Old tobacco stick tower in the corner
Waits for one single movement to collapse
His hat feels his head
He wipes his brow
In disappointment
Tornado dances along these crops
But somehow it still stands 
The only thing
Dirt under nails doesn’t
Do the work justice
Advertisements don’t give it meaning
And time spent digging
Has only tripled for
Machinery and rakes
But at least there is shelter