THE THRUMMING OF
THE WINTER LOCALS
(modern trimmings)
Perhaps it's all been heard before -
that squeak the hinges make, the
noise before the pigs start eating.
Not quite a squeal, but close enough.
I've watched these winds before,
and know now how the Winter
blows its heavy stanchions down.
-
That local guy named Peter, he throws
the bales and catches those unwary
moo-cows waiting. Nothing much
goes on 'til Spring. In the heaviest
snow they still send Grandpa out to
fix at fences, and he never winces.
-
Those curtains come down after
first-frost hits. I forget by name
just what they're called. Gingham?
Whatever it is, they always remind
me of Oklahoma or some hayseed
hoe-down in a sandy evening of
fun and frolic. (Not all who drink
beer are alcoholic).
No comments:
Post a Comment