The Life of a Famous Grain Counter

It was my job to stand
In the silo and count grain.
I was young and brazen,
And I had a little wife to feed.

The mechanized ways of religion
Weren’t for me, but when
The Almanac predicted something
That gathered in the sky and blessed

The fields, I wept like a nun.
And still I kept counting.
Once a cool sad rain settled in.
How like grain, I thought.

To determine which seed
I had counted was now impossible,
So I ate them instead.
I grew fat and got trapped inside.

It was during this time that
I developed my great philosophy of life.
I was a giant, bigger than anything,
But I saw only the inside of my silo.

I achieved a measure of fame.
A man sold tickets at the door
And students would peer in at me
In the dusty light, shaking their heads.

Abjectly I ran out of ideas.
I only thought of women.
The grain fermented and drunkenly
I thrashed out my final words:

Stay clear of grain.
It’s a sad life; I can’t count the ways.
The silo’s shape suggests
The true philosophy of man.