On the hillside at the end of that long road
Lived an old man who’d spent his life farming.
He lived in an ancient, hewn-log house
That had never felt the touch of a paintbrush
Easing across its unfinished surface.
The old man was tall and thin, wrinkled and tanned.
His white hair stood upright and tasseled about
Like a wheat field rearranged by the wind.
It had been awhile since he’d shaved,
Maybe a week or more.
No thought was given to the length of his whiskers.
The waist of his britches rested
High above where I imagined his navel to be.
We called men who wore their pants
Pulled up like that—“high pockets.”
The belt he wore was dark brown and made to last.
It was buckled tight, all the way to the last hole,
And what was left hung to the bottom of his fly.
He asked me if I wanted a mess of sweet taters.
Right away I told him I’d appreciate it.
He told me to come with him to his garden.
His mattock was already there, leaning against a post.
The old man picked it up and handed it to me.
I took it that I would be doing the digging.
He showed me the exact spot to sink the blade.
When I pulled the sweet potatoes out of the ground,
Two of them were cut almost all the way through.
I did the best I could with that hill then went to the next.
This time I lifted the mattock high and sank it deep.
Several more potatoes were wounded like before.
I could feel my face getting hot and turning beet red.
I said, “I never did dig sweet potatoes before.”
The old man raised his bushy eyebrows
Then reached up and scratched his wrinkled forehead.
Finally, he squinted his eyes, leaned back a little,
And looked toward the heavens.
I heard him mumble, “You didn’t have to tell me that.”
©️Copyright 2022 By David Lee Thompson
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Characters like him are always lovable and you painted a wonderful picture of him that not only matched him physically just the way the real picture does, but also matches personality by the way he tolerated your inexperience with digging up sweet potatoes.
A very enjoyable little story story poem.
Ron
personality!
…this I found added warmth and spirit to the poem…
He seemed to be the type of man who wouldn’t necessarily communicate
hospitality in average ways, but who would do it via giving of what he had…
I found it strangely moving, and the end so humorous…
your embarrassment was obvious…
You are so good at these characterisations, and I love them!
Diana..🍃