04:54 hrs. and a Melancholy tune
my mind lingers on the past
and how nothing human made
is there to last
my body and simple tasks
become a matter of more focus
and simple lines become cartoonish
therein an invented word
but I think you know what I mean
thank the rules of fate
for spell checkers
my right side cannot spell
and the left side has its moments
banjo music on the sound track
not something in my music library
but the helter skelter
of the sound rattles
around inside my skull
and jumbles the suspected lines
into some kind of code
while I sit here
complaining about being old
taking a sip of just made coffee
before it gets cold
and the thought back
seventy years
overalls and barn boots
heavy sweater and toque
gloves and mitts
time to slop the hogs
and shovel shit
for those not pulling cow tits
fresh chop in the horses stall
and fresh water for their trough
fresh hay
the horses need the energy
to start their day
transport the milk
to the separator
and then fill the big milk cans
and haul them to the pick up point
on Highway one
then wash up
and change out of your barn clothes
have a good old farm breakfast
made by the missus and the hired girl
coffee and tea for the grown ups
cool milk for the kids
hot cakes and home cured bacon
eggs anyway you wanted them
pan fries and baking soda biscuits
with preserves of canned
strawberries
or raspberries and clotted cream on
top
and then back to the barn to saddle
your pony
for the two mile ride to school
arrive at school
and unsaddle your pony
and put the fitted horse blanket
over your pony
and some hay in the trough
and then collect snow in big
corrugated wash tubs
to be melted over the grate
in the
middle of the class room floor
the fire in the furnace
started by
our twenty one year old teacher
as her first task on arrival at
school
she was a beautiful young woman
teaching thirty two kids
with over half the class
actually ESL students
given that the language at home
wasn’t English
but Ukrainian, Swedish and French
she our teacher made do
by placing kids
in the double desks
so each one could teach one
for instance Albert Delorme
a Métis kid was with me
because I was very good at English
and Albert was very good with
arithmetic
Mrs. Hicks
was married to a mining engineer
who was in South Africa
and they had been separated for two
years
because there was a war on
the class was from grade one to
grade eight
and somehow that young woman made it
work
there were no laggards in her class
in fact this poem is a tribute to
her
because she was responsible
for encouraging me to write
she put a challenge to the grade six
to eight
to write a poem
and I submitted one too
something about flying kites
she honored me by reading it to the
class
it was the first time anyone
had
complimented me for something I’d done
and she made sure that every day I
had
to write something
which is a habit I maintain to this
day
all the boys in her class
were madly in love with her
and fell over each other trying to
please her
it was very much my best year of
school
because the teacher changed
the next year
to a very mean older woman
whose idea of teaching
was pulling your ears
or cracking your knuckles with
metal straight edge ruler
now in my dotage
my mind returns to that magic year
when I had my own pony
and Missus Hicks
to look forward to each day.
JWL
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