Hand on the Wheel
There I was
Driving
The old red pick-up truck
With peeling paint
And dented fender
Dusty seats and
Cluttered dashboard
Driving
‘Round the field
On the bank
Of the swift-flowing river
We were tucked in
Underneath vertical hills
Of the rugged river canyon
Out of sight
Of the big ranch house
Where Mama was cooking supper
I drove
All by myself
As the sun was going down
Behind the canyon walls
While Dad pitched hay out the back
Of the flat bed
Me, so small in a big cowboy hat
That I had to push it back
Out of my eyes
To see
Had to sit up high on my knees
To reach
That big ol’ steering wheel
And look out the windshield
Just barely
With the gear stuck in neutral
Old truck going slow
Shaking along, inching forward
Round and round the field
In a spiral
Of fragrant alfalfa
Calves bawling, cattle mooing
Ambling towards us
I drove
With tiny hands on that big wheel
So slowly
Round and round
Till all the cows had been fed
Every last one
And a day’s work had been done
© February 26, 2008 by Sharon S. Brown
