Sonny Rainshine

Son, his father says,
why do you stare at the stars?
How can something millions
of miles away be of any use
to us?

Son, of what good is a nest-full
of blue-speckled birds’ eggs?
They won’t feed your children;
nobody will buy them.

Son, why do you plant
marigolds and zinnias
in furrows that could
be used for lettuce
and radishes?

Hummingbirds, butterflies,
wild ducks on the pond
over there: pretty, but we
have chores to do,
by the sweat of our brows.

****

One clear night, though,
walking out into the moonlit field,
the son saw a man standing
among the zinnias and marigolds,
looking upward:
Father, why do you stare at the stars?