This one still needs work--
Jack the Mule
came from who knows where.
My brother worked him for several years
dragging logs from the woods.
When not working, he would be
standing in the field—
munching, watching.
He let the boys ride him
without so much as a
flinch or start—
no worries.
The five-year-old
legs stretched wide
atop Jack’s broad back
the three-year-old clinging from behind.
My brother led—
I walked along beside
steadying with a hand.
At the honeysuckle thicket the
path narrowed and I had to stop.
A few feet farther on
the slide started sideways
off the mule—
the three-year-old never loosening his
fearful clench around the other’s chest.
In slow motion, eyes wide, locked together
they slid off,
deep into the honeysuckle.
Everyone laughed.
The last time I saw Jack
my brother was riding him back to the farm from town,
water jugs slung on either side behind him,
through the darkness on the gravel road.
2
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2 comments
Feel free to reply to any comment by clicking the "Reply" button.A nice story on the innocence of childhood...but with the danger!
Freedompath
Level 9
July 8, 2018
1
Thanks. Where was the danger?
@tnorman1236 falling off the horse and breaking something! No?
@Freedompath I was right beside them until the honeysuckle patch. If they were falling anywhere that might hurt them, me and my brother would have been there to catch them regardless. We knew they wouldn't be hurt where they fell. They even laughed with us.
@tnorman1236 i’m still a mother, lol
When I lived in Pennsylvania a very good friend of mine an old Dutchman. He bought a portable sawmill he and I spent many of weekends deep in the forest turning logs into lumber. Sadly he passed, I had given both my kids their middle name as an honor to him. This poem gave me remind of him. Good rune
azzow2
Level 9
July 8, 2018
1
Thank you.
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