Square Bales

The Summer of Snakes by Robert E. Petras

The Summer of Snakes

Some summer I bailed hay,
For Farmer Dan, square bales, square
As caskets, just as heavy.
Dan tooled the tractor while I manned
The wagon, snatching the twine
As the baler spit out bales across its tongue,
Stacking them seven stacks high,
Tight as Tupperware, as we jounced
Along the rutted and groundhog-holed fields.

Some afternoon I saw it,
Couldn’t have been more skittish
If I saw my grandparents doing the deed,
Seeing that black snake in the bale,
Sawed off like the volunteer in the magic box,
Its head wiggling out one side,
The tail end wiggling
Out the other, except those waggles
Weren’t at all in time of each other.
The only thing more spazzed than the snake
Was me shaking up on that seventh stack
Watching Dan give it the flick
Like two flaws in the garment factory.

Some evening I came to town
With plenty of carnival money
For me and my girl Karen to have
Ourselves a real good time, only to find her
And my best bud Flip, making out,
Right on top of the Tilt-a-Whirl,
Tore me up in two, just like that snake.

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(Photo: Liz Murray/flickr.com/ CC BY-NC 2.0)

 

Robert E. Petras
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