On Chicora Road ~

"Damn that stone bustin'my plow"
he kept mumbling,
wheeling in on narrow Chicora Road
(with his brother) in a '29 Ford
with a short flatbed behind.

"We came whippin' down Lick Hill
and wingin'the length of
Jefferson Street
right into the center of town,
then takin' a left
to the hardware store,
pullin' up short in front
where the hitchin' post
used t'be, he told her later.

On entering his brother heard him yell
"Ya got a plowshare an' any a'them bolts,"
while he himself moved over
to eye n Austrian scythe he'd spotted,
like Grampa's, lost in the fire.
Right then his eye
caught that of Sally Hughs
crouched behind the counter.

What they bought fit in the flatbed
but caused the driver to quarrel
homebound mile for mile
while the other sat upright, not listening
but looking instead
out the tilted windshield
at the gently rolling Chicora countryside,
thinking how he could win her over
without fear of strife or reprisal
from his unsuspecting brother.