the horses lost their jobs

It was red

What’s left are the last thin hunks

of that heroic red machine,

planted in the front field,

not going anywhere,

still pointed to its last destination.

This is a marvel of machine,

a completely rusted spectacle of progress,

form invites quick memories

of function…

It doesn’t tempt the kids,

there are no pedals to push,

the big seat is too high

and it’s too rough for bouncing,

and it’s too far from the thick rusty wheel

with no horn,

the big rugged tractor tires

turned one last time

when the moon and the stars

and the sun were younger.

Once it was a noisy monster,

the farmer called the thing “Bab,”

it scared the horses who lost their jobs,

it scattered the goats and the hens,

the pigs went rooting

on the other side of the barn.

Old farmers remember their first ride

on their magic new machines

that chugged everywhere, pulled anything,

each tractor needed its own tool box,

half metal stuff, half mystery stuff,

and the farmers knew

how to keep them going,

and they knew the secret kick

that finished many repair jobs.

This rig’s driver never used

a couple of the rods

and a few of the knobby connectors,

and he never wondered

why he didn’t know

what they were for.

The spectral farmer in baggy overalls

who starts to fill the tank each night

always struggles with the cap,

and always decides to wait…

October 27, 2024

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Book review: Shakespeare’s Wife

Germaine Greer went overboard a bit…

click here

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My first name was rain: A dreamery of poems with 53 free verse and haiku poems,

and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)

and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

Your comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

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a noisy monster…“It was red,” my poem