Hauling Hay
I was a teacher
my salary was meager
I spent the summers
hauling hay.
The Texas sun
was searing at dawn
when I rose to see
if my hay truck
would start.
I climbed in the cab.
looked at the ground.
The truck had no floorboard
just blue smoke and sound.
The hay fields were strewn.
Square bales of alfalfa.
Heavy to lift,
tough to inhale.
We stacked them high
on the flatbed behind us.
One hundred and twenty
at twelve cents a bale.
We made for the barn.
A loft with no air flow.
Sweating and stacking
and swatting the wasps.
The scene was repeated
as long as the sun shone.
Then we, and the truck
coughed our way home.
Dennis Price
