Charlie Foot was a pioneer rancher

Until he was tragically trampled by a horse.
It left half his face smiling.
Then Charlie Foot was a kindly janitor.
From the dull interior of the school room, daydreams danced
Like dust devils to the distant music of his push broom.
Wild horses and weather played in the crescendo
and decrescendo of his passing
Through the immaculate hall.

Christopher Bollweg designs houses and writes poetry from his cabin on Vashon Island. If there was a law against poetry, I'd still do it.