| |
|
Into their baggy, bunched tubes
of legs go my own, then standing
I hoist the vest, working my arms
through the flat, broad straps.
Shoe laces taut, wide brimmed hat a shield
from glare, I can stride out smartly now
to hay acres swollen with bounty
and corn rows tilled straight as virtue
Week’s end, in a dusty road town named Promise
I will spend an hour with Hans, Patrick and Lars,
talking of things of beauty: plows, dog, horses,
children sweetly perfumed in Fels-naptha,
women of comely biceps, and elders, who, in overalls
just like ours, mended fences into their nineties.
There on the Main Street porch of the general store,
we will gather in confident muster,
veteran stalwarts from the lower forty,
a thumbs-up army in Oshkosh b’gosh blue.
From Not Quite Eden (Fireweed Press).
Used here with the author’s permission.
|
.jpg)
Richard Swanson (1940 - 2023) taught college English and Creative Writing for 33 years. A devoted supporter of libraries and poetry, he was the author of two novels and several poetry collections. A resident of Madison, Wisconsin, Richard enjoyed cooking, fishing, and woodworking. He was well-known for his sense of humor, which was often reflected in his writing.
|
|
Larry Schug:
Certainly before the time of corporate farms. I wish we could go back before the country-side gets eaten up. This poem paints a lovely picture.
Posted 07/17/2025 11:36 AM
|
Darrell Arnold:
This I like. Poetic homage to the agrarian lifestyle. In my opinion, it is the very best kind of life one can live.
Posted 07/17/2025 08:44 AM
|
|
|
|
My Cart 
