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