Sleepy sun creeps up
    Over the horizon of Nebraska bluffs
Runny egg yoke disk of light
    Promised heat of the late spring day
Moving ahead of the sun's onslaught
    Dust walls turned up
From the spinning wheels of my car
    A beloved sky-blue Olds 98

Farm lands on either side of the dirt
    Road outside of West Point
Dark green of soybean plants
    To either side of me
Standing pillars of corn stalks
    Sweeping the fresh air with golden tassels
Wild grasses and ditch weeds
    Wave my passage by

Sane men aren't awake this early
    But farmers might not be sane
One can never be sure
    Yet obligation is a powerful master
The need to feed, clothe and shelter
    The family joined and sired In the towns less demanding works
Keep people in their dreams longer

I'm a town boy foolish enough
    To keep a farmer's hours
A bit of pocket change
    For half a day's work
I drive on the farm lane
    The dust cloud following me
Continued to pass down the road onwards
    Seeking gentler grounds

The shallow drainage ditch
    On either side of the road
Sported weeds covered in
    The fresh sticky dew of morn
I should have known better
    Than to have wasted time in bathing
I would soon be wet and muddy again
    From walking the beans

As I came onto the place
    A sow gave a desperate scream
As it was mounted
    They were making bacon
According to Nature's order
    The sound of money repropogating
The stench of pig shit
    Was the accompanying smell of success

The northern part of the house yard
    Was filled with chickens
Dressed in their dirty feathers
    Lost plumage littered the ground
Green rubber hose straightened on the dirt
    From house to the water trough
The trough was stained green
    With the muck of algae, moss

Near the walk stood the rubber boots
    Knee-high length stained goopy brown
By our work in the calf house
    Cleaning the blue plastic barrels
Once filled with Pro-Fat, disgusting concoction
    Dearly loved by fattening pigs
Who gorged on the molasses and all natural fats
    That plumpened them prime for market

The baby in the house was awake
    As bitchy as his mom
Jeremy liked to sleep in
    Had no intentions of becoming a farmer
Tied to the tasks of feeding, milking, planting
    For now, though, his needs were simple
Feed him, change him, play with him
    I envied his easy life style

Ken was walking into the kitchen
    Buttoning up his blue jeans
Ash-tipped cigarette hung limply
    From between his lips and teeth
Hair messed from tossed sleep
    Five o'clock shadow masking his face
He nodded to me, took orange juice from the fridge
    Poured it into a glass still clean

Jill placed Jeremy in his high chair
    Fixed bib about his neck
There was a smile on his face
    Spoon fed delicacies
Of mushed this, mashed that
    Best thing to fill his stomach
Put glee on his face
    Chance to hours later mess his pants

Roaring three wheeler pulled in
    Dying in the drive way
Scrawny little brother of Ken,
    Davey-boy, driving in from his place
The stories he constantly regaled
    Stretched further than a fish's tale
But brothers are brothers and friends are friends
    Besides, we never listened anymore

Jeremy fed and given to
    Davey and me
To entertain and keep company
    To pick on in our own well-meaning ways
What four-letter words
    Will you learn today?
"Shit, damn, fart and fuck"
    "Cut it ought!" Jill yelled
But Jeremy was all too apt

Once the gorging by the boss, Ken, was done
    The sleep retreated from his eyes
Jeremy was taken for his bath
    We went out, riding on the gate of the truck
To a distant field of bushy green soybeans
    Hearts sinking to see
The ill-kept rows filled with weeds
    A sigh at expected blisters

Of course I was the one to get the hoe
    Didn't they trust me with machete?
We each took four rows at a time
    Walking down the center
Eyes a little less than alert
    Reaching over, taking grasp
Of offending plant
    Sudden stroke of metal

At least with the hoe I could stand still
    Simply reaching over and pulling back
Slicing and uprooting my victims
    "Damn it, not the beans!"
Oops, sorry about that
    Just an accident
And what do you expect
    At this time of the morning?

My jeans were quickly soaked
    As were Davey's bare legs
Dirt clogs worked into my shoes
    Soggy mash of socks
Each step a new experience
    As sweat stains blossomed
The sun took pleasure in its torture
    Something to pass its boring day

I may have been a town boy
    But I sported my own farmer's tan
Something to be proud of, a mark or work
    I would be no wimp
Who worked the back of the cafe counter
    Or sold toys in the dime store I even began to think
That farmer's weren't insane

Hours pass you by
    As dust clouds blow in
Dirty our faces to look
    Like gypsy children
We were just big kids
    Playing in the dirt
Caffeine break to revive us
    Next Back 40 before us

Massive clump of weeds
    Had choked away all life
No profit, no bushels from this patch
    Yet we had fun
Cutting through the jungle
    Defoliating the useless stuff
Take no prisoners
    Show no mercy

Sticky wet plant blood
    Worked its way down
The machete blade, on to hands and arms
    Tiny chunks of chopped weeds
Sported in our hair
    Muddy mess of our pants
Was totally undescribable
    Dared I to say we had fun?
 

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