For years I have written “stuff.” This week end I went to the Philadelphia Writer’s Conference and went to a poetry class. It was called “Confessional Poetry.” I decided to put my “stuff” out there and call it poetry. And here is my first offering.
Daddy, Me and the Massey Ferguson
Sitting on his lap at 3 and he was 28, I pulled that tractor into the barn for the first time.
Boy, was I one proud daughter.
At 13 and he was 38, I drove that tractor while Daddy threw the hay bales on the wagon.
Boy, was I one proud daughter.
At 63 and he was 88, I got a phone call that Daddy was in the hospital.
The steering wheel broke and being a 1948 Massey Ferguson,
There was no safety catch.
He had been mowing hay and got thrown into the mower
Then to the ground and the MF, that’s Massey Ferguson ran over him.
He was just about a goner.
I was not tolerant of incompetence or indifference in those doctors;
One said, “You are a TIGER.” I said,
“NO, when it comes to my Daddy’s care, I am a ferocious tiger!
I bandaged his wounds for weeks.
My Daddy got well and was back on that MF, that’s Massey Ferguson,
Mowing hay, again.
Boy, was I one proud daughter.
My Daddy died in January.
That MF and me miss him so much. No more hay bales.
Boy, am I one sad daughter.