Close Call

an early 1970s piece - The sun was close to down as I would drive the dusty road. I knew that this was going to be my last delivery load. My mind began to wander as the shade consumed the lawn Where I’d been dumping loads of dirt…I’d started right at dawn. My mind was drifting just a bit on where I’d need to go For nails and lumber after eight…as I began to slow. I paused before the driveway as I checked the road ahead, Then glanced back at the pile of soil that stood beside the shed. One more load to dump and I could finally head for home, I wheeled my rig around to shake away the load of loam. Peering back and forth between the mirrors to guide me back - And concentrating on the mound of dirt beside the shack - I wouldn’t see the frantic child who ran to wave me down. My thoughts were on the business hours of places back in town. I threw the lift in gear, the motor roared, the hinges squealed… When I would spot the boy as he came running from the field. The boy was racing toward me. His face was wild with fear. I saw, as he got closer, that his eyes were filled with tears. I killed the engine, kicked the door as wide as it would go, And scrambled down to learn what had the youngster crying so. “What’s the matter, little guy,” I ran to him and asked. “My puppy was behind your truck, so I came running fast. “The motor was too noisy, so he couldn’t hear me yell,” He cried, as we stood horrified…for half the dirt had fell. “He was in the house,” he cried, “but somehow he got out.” His folks had run to join us when they’d heard the youngster shout. The four of us attacked that pile of soil like wolverines. The dirt was flying everywhere, like you have never seen. The boy and I were throwing left…his mom and dad threw right. The four of us worked frantically, but still…no dog in sight. The mood would quickly change from fear to suffocating doubt. The older-three of us would now prepare for…“no way out.” But, just as we collectively considered what to say To soothe a brokenhearted child who’d lost his dog that day, His gleeful cry would pierce the sad affair with squeals of joy For - as we turned to look at him - we saw the ranting boy Was pointing at the pile of dirt and…in a deafening wail… He shouted loudly, “There he is! I see his little tail!” The tiny tail was twitching, so we knew he was alive. I ran to where he struggled, and the little boy of five Watched as I uncovered him, and brushed the dirt away. And tears would fill my eyes as he would look at me and say, “Thank you, sir, for saving him. I’ll wash him good tonight.” I watched him hug and kiss the pup ‘til they were out of sight. His folks were very kind and told me how they understood, That I was not to blame, and how it all had ended good. I climbed back in the cab, then raised and shook the box once more, And as I pulled away, I saw them standing at the door. All of them were waving, as I turned onto the road, And I will not forget the day I dumped that final load. PS: I've now got 4 new Audio-CDs - @ 4 1/2 hours each = (62 diversely varied pieces). They’re listed on EBAY - under - “Mark Stellinga Poetry” - or available by simply contacting me at -- mark@writerofbooks.com -- should those of you who enjoy listening to poems as well as reading them - and particularly those of you that travel - care to be so entertained. (We use safe and simple - PayPal) There are a bunch of my pieces on YouTube as well --- Cheers, Mark