Tractor Ride for E

Poetry

by Dave Bilyeu | 0 Comments

Enough of the illusions, schemes for more, friends who aren’t
Instead, buy a hazelnut farm in the Willamette Valley
shell nuts and stay warm on wet days while tending the roaster.

We could trade in one life for another,
 picking one Thoreau inspired
 where the antidote for backsliding into
  haste and accusations - why can’t you...
 why didn’t you...
 how come you...
 and did you really.....?
 is to retire to the opening in the glade
 find figures in the towering white clouds -
 a racing Pillsbury Dough Boy pursued by the Big Bad Wolf.

 We cheer the wolf.

Daylight slips away
 we walk to the old barn
 crank up the old grey ’51 Ford -
 it never did have a fast life -
 The putt-nup, putt-nut
 is less motor power than movement by hiccup,

and share the cupped-hand, metal seat like motorcycle mates;
your chest expanding against my back with each
 breath
your head heavy with thoughts of loss and pain
 against my shoulder.
Treads, cross-hashed, lay herringbone prints down the darkening ways
between trees in symmetry and boughs all the same height.....
I lean, you lean, but twigs and leaves collect in our hair for
sylvan crowns.

At this pace, the dogs trot easily port and starboard,
vanilla colored beams from the old headlights spot their wagging tails
like moonlight on a ship’s wake.
The steady
 putt-nup  putt-nup  putt-nup

- takes us to a time when these trees were seedlings, the tractor knew no  rust, and we.....we  knew no grief.

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