The Fight of meadow and lug nut
Even though he was tightening lug nuts
his thoughts leaned against a tree
in mountains far away,
sitting so still that life
went about daily tasks.
A cottontail dislodged rotting leaves
stopped and sniffed,
scratched a soft, pink ear
and disappeared behind a log.
Purple Lupine caught the air,
a dance in a spot of sun.
California poppies littered the slope
beside the trail.
The sound of water was everywhere.
Three quail bobbing their heads
in unison, their pointed feather hats erect,
marched with purpose towards the sound.
In the garage the air was stiff
with the smells of gasoline and oil
when a shadow fell across his vision
and his heart moved from the peace place
and skipped and jumped him a warning.
Slouched in front of him
was the man with the mean eye.
The man’s face contorted
then dislodged a sound,
belched an acid laugh into the garage.
It echoed unpleasantly
across the meadow
where the mule deer, squirrel
and black bear roamed,
a dark and menacing cloud formed
over the sun dappled place
of poppies and lupine.
He watched as the lug nuts
rolled across the floor and settled.
a fist came up from inside the cave
where the sleeping bear had wintered.
Filled with purpose it lunged
with the full black weight
of hunger into the face before him.
The mean eye closed.
Drops fell slowly
onto the grease stained cement
making a most satisfying
almost silent plop.
Behind him on the desk
a newspaper lay
open to words he’d read that morning,
"Violence is not an answer,
it is the most clear sign of our failure."
But in his mind were his father’s words,
an echo through generations
of fathers and sons,
"Be a man," he’d said.
[This message has been edited by Martie (edited 11-20-1999).]