Backside of My Old Kentucky Home

at our estates
we sat on the side porch
stared at humble cabins

as young bucks
worked and sweated in the fields
and sang and danced

we could smell
sour mash and brandies
and cast-iron skillets full of
nothing but love

those were good ol’ days
breaking them
was more Christian
than selling them
 

on horse farms
we sipped mint juleps
looked out over the hills

rode our thoroughbreds
raced each other in the meadows
to earn Sundays off to eat

the best fried chicken
cooked in large kettles and pots
seasoned genius
in every dish

for owners and families
carefully breeding them
was more profitable
on the auction block