Fifty Pound Bags

Terah’s dislike of wind has reminded me of a poem I wrote last year. I had a five hour lay-over in Wichita, waiting for a load of caustic soda, and the Kansas wind was blowing and this came to mind.

Fifty Pound Bags

In the month of May in Nintey Six,
When the dogwoods were still in bloom,
I was planting beans on a windy day,
I need more seed, this I assumed.

I was walking back to check the planter
When my Wife drove up with a ton,
Of certified seed, in Fifty pound bags,
And hamburger wrapped in a bun.

I gulped the sandwich, started pouring in seed,
My wife was holding onto the sacks,
But one got away, ripped from her grasp,
By Mariah, then came the attack.

It circled the pick-up, then hit the dog,
Then Marilyn got one more pass,
Then it started climbing, It was up and away,
Soon a half mile high, then Alas,

The winds aloft took it straight east,
Into Iowa, and then at last sighting,
Twas climbing higher and higher and as far as I know
Is a star, part of our night lighting.

I don’t like to litter, and the loss of the sack
Had me feelin clear down on my luck,
The bag had no value, but the beans inside,
Were worth at least, Thirty Bucks!