Three Tractors

One damp morning, a tenant farmer

gave a boy a fender ride

on his open tractor

to a weeding row, the machine’s

high-ribbed wheels

taller than the boy, its old engine loud.

 

As they arrived, the farmer shouted back

for the boy to jump—

he didn’t care to stop—

and the boy, ever quick to obey, pushed off

from one of the spinning wheels.

 

It shot him

down into mud

near—but not under—

itself.

 

The farmer glanced back, saw the boy wasn’t crushed,

then turned forward and, on the rutted tracks, grinded on.

*

One summer afternoon, an enclosed tractor

was cutting grass

on a steep highway median, its single

blade-housing extending

too far in the downhill direction, so

pulling on the tractor, the portly driver

using all his weight—

body pressed to the uphill window—

to counterbalance it.

 

Traffic slowed and watched him with concern.

But he didn’t tip over.

 

He just kept

holding

 

that gritty

tension.

*

One soft sunset, a small, red tractor

in a distant hayfield

rose and fell with the easy

roll of the earth.

 

Dipping then disappearing

into the field’s tall yield.

 

Burying itself

in the late lushness

grown by the loose, bobbing, reaping

man at the wheel.

 

Author of eight collections of poems—most recently Settling In (Kelsay Books, 2024)— Mark Belair has also published two works of fiction: Stonehaven (Turning Point, 2020) and its sequel, Edgewood (Turning Point, 2022). He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize multiple times, as well as for a Best of the Net Award. Please visit www.markbelair.com