Rabbit and Rose
To me
Papa Wesley always looked
Out of place
Behind wheel of a car
Like a goat in a tree
Or a horse laid out flat on the ground
Or an alligator gar - period
Cowboy hat, lace-up work shoes, big leathery hands
Were better fit on his tractor
Than his Chevy Monte Carlo
Or his Ford Fairlane
On tractor he drove in purposeful lines
Plow turning over every inch of dirt
He made slow even turns
At end of every row
Through my open bedroom window I heard
The engine clattering get louder
As he returned toward the front of the field
And I jumped out of bed ran through the kitchen
And out the door to jump on board
There
On the tractor
He fit
Gloved hands gripping massive wheel
Jamming gears in position
His speed appropriate for his mission
My nightgown blowing from the breeze
Standing in place by his side
I inhaled smell of fresh turned dirt
And I begged him to keep going
My Bert and Ernie slippers covered with red dust
But in the car
His hands seemed too large on skinny wheel
Legs too long in the upholstered, cushioned seat
Feet too big for small pedals
He drove a car like he drove his tractor
Slowly
Carefully
The yellow dashes on the road were longer
When looking out the passenger side window
Town became farther away
His turns took hours to complete
My eyes stared at the needle on the speedometer
Which seemed to strain from being so low for so long
Sitting in the passenger seat
All I smelled was oil and gas
And I begged him
PLEASE GO FASTER!
There was no breeze at such slow speeds
No dust kicked up