He drops the tailgate on that old GMC truck
using it as a makeshift workbench
He tinkers with an old icemaker
determined to bring it back to it's former glory
He whistles an old country tune as he works with contentment
His screwdriver slips and the melody is broken
He cusses out loud as his knuckle begins to bleed
Frustration grows as he uses his shirttail to wipe the blood,
holding pressure on his hand with pure impatience,
his eyes fixed on the old appliance in pieces
The aroma of supper cooking
makes it's way outside through the raised windows of the old white house
He decides to give it up but only until tomorrow
His concentration is broken
and his mind is now on fried potatoes and onions
As he wipes his hands on an old shop rag he counts his blessings
They are abundant
Categories:
shirttail, blessing, culture, family, freedom,
Form: Free verse
Son, would you tuck in your shirttail
Was something often heard
At home when I was a youngster
With harsher action inferred
My otherwise kind hearted Mother
Had shirttails as a pet peeve
That boys were just naturally sloppy
Was something she wouldn't believe
It didn't seem to matter
That action was big in my plan
Like building a fort or a tree house
Or a game of kick the can
As long as my trouser tops covered
The tail of my shirt complete
Dear Mother seemed quite contented
And smiled at her son so neat
But catching fly balls and gophers
Are surely not meant I'd say
For shirttails tucked in and tidy
From the start to the end of a day
Well now that I'm older I smile
Each time I check my belt line
And straighten my shirt without thinking
Like a habit that's learned over time
Some Mothers have talent for teaching
Their lessons to boys of school age
Who think that neatness can't happen
'Till life's reached a much older stage
You see my reflex for shirttails
Was taught by a Mother with grace
Who sewed to each shirttail bottom
Two inches of fancy pink lace!
Categories:
shirttail, funny, mother,
Form: Cowboy Poetry