BACK TO WORK
The farmer stands stiffly
In the doorway of his shop
Where bolts litter a greasy table
Holding everything firmly together
Season in, season going out
Tired machines to make ready
Wires and wrenches, sockets and filters
While a box of wing nuts rests stubby wings
Men lined up across the past
Who took their turn tilling this land
Framed in the sweat of horses and diesel smoke
While sodden black fields stand idle, waiting to turn green
Generations of his ancestors
Their hard work gone and forgotten
Lives as intermittent as gaps in a long windrow
Where the wind breathes and the crush of silence is deafening
www.ricksteber.com
