Just plow.

Plow forth! Wrestle thine plow 
up, back and cockeyed sideways
scraping out front door
and push whole trudging ways
ungrudgingly out to the fields
you love/abhor.

Now, back into it - frontways, fool! 

Not backwards yank! It's put thy back into
it, I mean! Intuit, next time! That stunt was 
wack! Now! Situate. 

And eye the row. It is what seems. It
isn't there yet, yes I know. But eye it
anyway. Let's go. Grip up both handles, and
- plow forth. Lean in and churn those legs,
old horse! Now heave that back! Don't
hurt yourself. These are long days, 
and you slept in, so please expect 

this harvest moon will tan your neck 
from day's red burn. Plow meaning free! 
Now feeling it! Let plow's shear break 
and tear up ground for you to lose 
your footing in, abysses deep. 
Now reeling in breaths of deep, rich
earth you keep not quite connecting
with.

Get grounded, sun! It's yeoman's work
in these here fields, until untilled and
missed-a-spot lies duly tossed! Flirtatious shirt
flung by - big boss, you stud.
This patch you labor
on smells rank
from oily-limned man-limbs!
Oh, are we only writing?

Thanks. 

Let milling crowds of reapers gawk. 
They follow in your dirty wake. Hey wait. 
You guys? We missed a step? AH YES - 
here sowers come! To sew in stitching-time
and seam up tight like fate. Hey wait!
Those are not 'sowers'! They are
sewers, and they do seem uptight
to be called so. Sorry, folks. 
What are you doing here, and
...does anybody else smell all that?

Rhyme scheme askew? Track gone awry,
coursing way off-plot? Diagonal to
the furrows on neighbor's brow, stood
wondering whose field you think
you're plowing now? Don't do me
any favors, buddy! I got this!

Just plow