By Stephen Page
The tractor was broke
The radio wasn’t working
I didn’t have time
I was sick that day
It was raining
The fence line was under water
The days are too long
The calves are being born now
The cows have screw worms
The horses have parasites
The horses are tired.
There is always a reason
for not completing a task,
but the tractor works when
you need it to haul firewood
to your hearth. You are healthy
on the weekends, and gone, the wild
horses, you don’t want to break.
You are the Saboteur, the Silent Tractor
Mechanic, you quit when the Tattler belittled
you, but returned after he was fired, saying
he was in the wrong. Now you mope, stumble,
ride around caped in black. You spread disease,
plague, encephalitis, the Red Death.
maybe the Tattler told a dark truth.
This hot spring afternoon I removed a vaccination
from the fridge. I immunized the other
employees. You, I will cure, or eradicate.
You will not epidemic the endemic.
At least you are not ingratiative
like the Tattler, though I know
you have a silver-fox face. You
may run the canals at night,
but I see you, in the moonlight.
*This poem published in the anthology Unbridled III, by Red Dahboard LLC Publications
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thanks to www.rita-anderson.com, #Zavia Willis http://derrickpaulson.weebly.com, #ianAustin, http://www.shakespearetheatre.org/blog/poets-are-present-andrew-jarvis/, http://www.freedomchevalier.com