Waiting on Dirt Roads

I am taking a short fiction and poetry class this semester, which explains why there have been poems lately. Another to add to the collection. This poem was prompted by four rules: first stanza had to include the county I grew up in; second stanza, mother's maiden name; third stanza, weather and something my father said; forth stanza, what I was going to do next. This is what happened. 

Waiting on Dirt Roads

This lonely dirt road seems

Familiar. Comfortable.

Surrounded on both sides by

Tall corn stalks and short bean stems

Respectively in their fields of rotation.

Centuries past, this is where deer and

Antelope would have roamed.

Now it is much more common to see a

Tractor grazing in the fields.

The dry leaves and brown fields

Tell Dad it’s time for harvest.

The combine is pulled from the shed.

Picking goes smoothly for a day, then something

Breaks. Allen wrenches, pliers, nuts and bolts

Assist in the repair, but don’t gain back the

Lost hours of daylight.

Darkness comes early as a

Thunderhead rolls over the horizon.

Big, icy drops pelt me as I walk up the drive.

Dad is on the front porch under the awning.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another

He mutters as we stand watching

Lightning streak the sky.

Not often is rain unwanted.

It is in these moments of silence I

Hear my dad the best. His heart seems to be in that

Field. He plants seeds, expectant they will

Grow, waters patiently. He

Prays against hail, hopes for good yield.

But now he can only wait,

As can I.

See you in five days, Dad. Love you.

Until next time.