Machine Poem April 3, 2015

The Rototiller

A salesman in the suburbs dons his boots

and jeans­­­­, an anxious weekend farmer

who eyes the sky, unhooks the lock

on the shed door, sniffs the air, smells

the dampness, and wheels out his machine––

a gleaming red Troy-Bilt Super Bronco

Tiller with Just One Hand

Operation. He pulls the recoil start

and the counter-rotating tines spin,

cutting through the garden soil, trenching

row after row of straight furrows, narrow

gaps in the crumbling dirt, ready for seeds

he’ll drop and coax to grow. He yearns

for youth and the family farm, but settles

for warm tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, and peas

that he’ll pinch from stems to savor in July.

Kim King © 2015

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About k2king

Poeming to save myself
This entry was posted in My poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Machine Poem April 3, 2015

  1. whimsygizmo says:

    I love this, Kim. I can feel that soil.

  2. k2king says:

    Thanks! It must be a desire for gardening that has inspired me.

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