September 15th, 2025
by Joe Pisklak
An old kitchen apron shields his school clothes from straw scratches and dirt
The hay bale is heavy, but he can rest it on the aproned leg and walk it a bit
Under the hay bale load, rubber boots sink deep into the mud under a gray drizzle
In the middle of the mud-pasture he cuts the strings and scatters the hay
The cows come at a trot with their calves running beside
The bull saunters behind
The mud smells of the rot of fall leaves and of new grass
The hay is dusty gold
The cows hurriedly root through the hay with quick head jerks and it scatters more
The hay strings are put in his apron pocket and he locks up the barn door with a tin creak
Mud clings to his boots and makes them heavy as he crosses the pasture through the dark cloud drizzle
He can see the kitchen light glowing gold
It will be warm there and smell of potatoes, onions, and coffee with cream
He'll hang up his quilted flannel jacket and sit with everyone and smile
About the Poet
Joe Pisklak resides in Midland, Texas, United States.
Read the poet's biography and Wax Poetry and Art publications
on Joe Pisklak's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Comet #6,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Texas Poetry Magazine:
Poem 18
by Grace Arnold
Texas Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
- This website and all contents ©Kirk Ramdath and specified artists.
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