Tuesday, March 03, 2009
No Tool or Rope or Pail by Bob Arnold It hardly mattered what time of year We passed by their farmhouse, They never waved, This old farm couple Usually bent over in the vegetable garden Or walking the muddy dooryard Between house and red-weathered barn. They would look up, see who was passing, Then look back down, ignorant to the event. We would always wave nonetheless, Before you dropped me off at work Further up the hill, Toolbox rattling in the backseat, And then again on the way home Later in the day, the pale sunlight High up in their pasture, Our arms out the window, Cooling ourselves. And it was that one midsummer evening We drove past and caught them sitting Together on the front porch At east, chores done, The tangle of cats and kittens Cleaning themselves of fresh spilled milk On the barn door ramp; We drove by and they looked up-- The first time I've ever seen their Hands free of any work, No tool or rope or pail-- And they waved.