iron and steel and rubber
engineered to tasks
now, just sitting
parked
Days and nights they thundered
through the fields of black
lifting, turning, stroking
the soils that yielded plenty
chisel plows, men call them
they scratch nature’s back
opening her skin
to air and water
microbes breathe
earthworms relax
stalks and leaves asunder
ready for winter’s freeze and thaw
bugs and weeds disturbed
springtime will find fields waiting
to receive the seeds again
Cold, the metal sits
awaiting repairs, replacement parts
final shots of grease
all done
rest
now still man, but beast is motor
and hoe has grown and grown
so one man’s labor
is multiplied, again and again and again
One hundred fifty two
the current number speaks
one farmer, American,
feeds himself
and another hundred fifty two
Food, fiber, fuel
the soil, the seed, the labor
sun and heaven sent rain
combine with design
engineering, science, factories
education, capital, government
…peace
All come together
to make a machine
Parked
til next season
But not the farmer, no,
he’ll sit at desk and figure
go to meetings
ponder ‘ever better’
on he goes
to make it so
Lin 11/07