An Incident While Backswathing

An Incident While Backswathing

We had to use our pitchforks when the back swath board broke off
To clear a path for the mower shoe to cut another swath

LaVerne the oldest, just thirteen, drove that old orange tractor
While sister Marilyn, then me, with pitchforks followed after

We’d follow close behind Laverne as the cutter bar cut hay
And swipe our pitchforks sideways to cleanly clear the way

The summer dry, the mower din would flush all sorts of critters
Bees and hoppers flies galore, and new-born field mice litters

Swallows from the barn would swoop and dive to dine in flight
Their slate blue wings would flash and gleam with flicking glinting lights

The new-mown hay, bright summer sun, our hats were made of straw
To quench our thirst, a quart of water in a canning jar

On one long pass, the mower noise put out a baby rabbit
I shed my boots to run it down  to see if I could grab it

It darted left then right then left then straight and when it did
I stepped on it and skinned it from its tail up to its head

All pink and red, it throbbed, alive, black flies began their peck
I picked it up, with one firm twist, I broke that poor thing’s neck

On that same day, I stabbed a dirty pitchfork through my foot
I got a bad infection, for days I just stayed put

I sometimes think if there be gods, they saw that step so cruel
And they then partially invoked the “eye-for-an-eye” rule.

And as I think about it now, that summer’s days’ long gone
The hayfield’s smell and the swallow’s dive I’m sure will carry on.

And if I get into those same straits and flounder on death’s seas
I hope someone will have the heart to do the same for me.