Tim spent the day weeding in his father’s flower garden
(most days he washes dishes at the local college) .
My son, Matthew, driving west to Utah,
spent the night in Red Cloud, home to Willa Cather,
...
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This is actually prose that has been cut into arbitrary line lengths and stanzas. So it's awkward to approach as poem (for me) . Plus there's no clever imagery or word usage. It drones a bit, but I like the sort of reflective musing atmosphere of it anyway.