Tough Guy
Watch the snow melt
as a back door pile
from ten feet to eight
to six and then four
and now a miserable
dirty pile two feet en-
during up to the first
Ceremonial
When the old farmer Ralph Burdock
Was going senile, or maybe it was Alzheimer’s
It was still a time when old folks fell between
A summation of senile, or gone funny in the head
But I would see Ralph come down our road
Where barely anyone lived, and stop his car well
Off the roadside and get out and go to his trunk
With the pace a farmer heading to a barn to milk
Cows would forever have in his gait, and snap the
Trunk open without a key and lift out his scythe
With almost the ceremony of a swordsman
The blade never touching anything but air
And it was already sharp, and with no further
Ado begin his work along the edges of our
Dirt road high wet grasses and raspberry and some
Thistle, elegantly and steadily sweep it all down
Just like he was once taught, now without his farm
Or wife or morning chores and so he came and
Helped do some of ours, even though no one really
Was alive or there for Ralph, just his scythe and purpose
And I’ve never quite seen the roadside trimmed and kept
Like that again, even by me, or the paid town workers
Yesterday Today Tomorrow
The old farm bridge we know is gone
Long gone
The stone abutments are mossy
Under young trees, forest debris
The farmer is also gone, and the farmer before him
The brook flows like it always has
______________
Bob Arnold
Yokel
Longhouse
2011
