Dirt

Willcox, Arizona 1959

I can remember
when I was a boy
living young and purposeless
next to what I thought
was the wild range — 
I saw many strong men gardening 
their vegetables and marigolds
apple orchards
lettuce and corn fields
herding their cattle

(their dogs and horses had names like
Milly & George, Maggie & Uncle Sam)

I admired 
their solidity and tenacity
both feet on the ground
defiant of all the odds
that pushed against them
and sometimes won — 
but defiant still — 

they carried aromas of leather
manure horses and cattle
of forges and branding irons
workshops of mechanical things
the odors of life and creation 
and the ground they walked on

they wore 
their dirt as a matter of fact
from the small plots to the large fields
to the grit 
that rises from cattle herds

and oh boy 
could they rope and dance — 
good God
a sight to behold for sure

and more than once I heard the women say
“...yeah, and he sure cleans up good.”