Hauling
Hay
I
was a teacher
my
salary was meager
I
spent the summers
hauling
hay.
The
Texas sun
was
searing at dawn
when
I rose to see
if
my hay truck
would
start.
I
climbed in the cab.
looked
at the ground.
The
truck had no floorboard
just
blue smoke and sound.
The
hay fields were strewn.
Square
bales of alfalfa.
Heavy
to lift,
tough
to inhale.
We
stacked them high
on
the flatbed behind us.
One
hundred and twenty
at
twelve cents a bale.
We
made for the barn.
A
loft with no air flow.
Sweating
and stacking
and
swatting the wasps.
The
scene was repeated
as
long as the sun shone.
Then
we, and the truck
coughed
our way home.
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