She looked around- five acres was not as much as it sounded like. An orange tractor sat in the open barn, amongst various machine parts and spare wood. Beyond that was a grove of trees and patches of gardens.
loud animal sounds
a time much younger
and the deep blue
breathing of the sky,
the sleeper in the hay,
mother out in the field
our oat growing wild,
hair in my face so black
like vines, matted, we
listened
to the sound of it
the roar of the wind
the tractor screaming
blue pond gleaming
our pain just below
the surface.
For the first time, the farmer left the road behind him dirty but unchanged. He slowly made his way down the street, cars speeding around his girth. Some revved their engines in a show of frustration for having their stride broken. It roared: ‘you don’t belong here.’ Their tires squealing on the shining black asphalt.
Last year, it was still dirt, as it was every year before. Cars who braved the mud tracks grumbled in leisure, and many hands slid out windows to offer a wave. The farmer would smile and nod, his treads temporarily scarring the road behind him. Children pressed their noses to windows to try to see his face, towering high above them.
Now, no matter how high the seat, he is reminded he should have disappeared with the old dirt road, the world around him growing into a stranger.
Farming tool. Can be used to plow? John Deer(spelling?) Can use it without gas, or if it’s broken. Make sure the tank is full and repairs are done when needed.
What do ya say I take you out on a date? Show up to your house on my tractor and wait ’til you’ve got your pink lipstick on, and then we’ll bump and glide down the country road? I’ll pour you a glass of my finest bourbon, and we’ll drink it under the warm night sky. Them stars start to look like a face, if you squint hard enough. And they smile, too.
She looked around- five acres was not as much as it sounded like. An orange tractor sat in the open barn, amongst various machine parts and spare wood. Beyond that was a grove of trees and patches of gardens.
loud animal sounds
a time much younger
and the deep blue
breathing of the sky,
the sleeper in the hay,
mother out in the field
our oat growing wild,
hair in my face so black
like vines, matted, we
listened
to the sound of it
the roar of the wind
the tractor screaming
blue pond gleaming
our pain just below
the surface.
Tractor. The mment i read this word, a happy farmer driving it into the muddy roads of a small village heading towards his farm comes to mind.
Tractor
Pull and strain over and over again down through the ruts and clouds of sinewed smoke. Another day and fan fane greets our mediocrity
gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg
For the first time, the farmer left the road behind him dirty but unchanged. He slowly made his way down the street, cars speeding around his girth. Some revved their engines in a show of frustration for having their stride broken. It roared: ‘you don’t belong here.’ Their tires squealing on the shining black asphalt.
Last year, it was still dirt, as it was every year before. Cars who braved the mud tracks grumbled in leisure, and many hands slid out windows to offer a wave. The farmer would smile and nod, his treads temporarily scarring the road behind him. Children pressed their noses to windows to try to see his face, towering high above them.
Now, no matter how high the seat, he is reminded he should have disappeared with the old dirt road, the world around him growing into a stranger.
“Tractor beams aren’t real. You know that, right? I need you to know that.”
The woman simply giggled at the man’s statement, as if blissfully unaware he thought she was positively insane.
Farming tool. Can be used to plow? John Deer(spelling?) Can use it without gas, or if it’s broken. Make sure the tank is full and repairs are done when needed.
What do ya say I take you out on a date? Show up to your house on my tractor and wait ’til you’ve got your pink lipstick on, and then we’ll bump and glide down the country road? I’ll pour you a glass of my finest bourbon, and we’ll drink it under the warm night sky. Them stars start to look like a face, if you squint hard enough. And they smile, too.