crickets and cicadas chirp under the trees,
a bucket sits
leather gloves & a hickory handled hammer wrapped in
black tape
rest inside.
john deere tractors, still warm to the touch
the moist smell of fresh cut hay is all around.
behind me, across the lane
inside the old clapboard house
a family of farmers move across the linoleum floor, around
the formica table
sit to bowls of steaming mashed potatoes, green beans,
fried
chicken, plates of white bread
and pitchers of sweet tea.
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