With a Midwestern sensibility, he reminds me a little of William Stafford. Here's a more overt statement, not without irony, but retaining the low-key metaphor Steven mentioned. It's from Not Coming To Be Barked At.
Letter To Dead Forebears
You would be pleased with my life.
I have been taught the farming of papers.
My desk is a field free of weeds.
I have driven away the crows of my fears,
and my death is a lone oak cackling with blackness
off in the distance. The bright moon
of good money looks over my shoulder,
passing its regular phases. You would approve
of my house, my wife, and my children.
We eat well and sleep peacefully,
the cricket of happiness ticking away
in the garden. As you did,
we keep to ourselves. I pay my taxes;
I give weekly to the church of my choice.
I refuse to believe that my life
is the cause of the murder of others.
[This message has been edited by Mark Blaeuer (edited July 09, 2004).]
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