Tractor Poem by Gert Strydom

At twilight the fluorescent lights in the shed do flicker on
and the huge working beast being Massey Ferguson red,
the tractor gives a cough
while the icy August winter wind howls past it,
red-brown dust is blown up in a huge cloud,
pours down all over it making its steel icy-cold
where solitary it stands
as if all the other green John Deere tractors
and implements by own volition
went missing but for the trailer that is hooked to it,
it coughs again in white clouds of smoke
when the starter is pressed.

I check the battery and it's loaded and fine
while my fingers feel numb.
I do open the engine cover
and the wind jerks at my clothes
while I glance into the depths of perfect machinery
that although being years old looks brand new.
In the brighter light,
starlings and some swallows flutter in their flight
while the wind twirls and are whipping trees to and fro
rushes towards the fields to the west.
Everything seems perfectly fit for work
and I do smell some diesoline
as if I have flooded it.

I close the engine cover
with a loud bang;
do get back into the seat
and my dog a Cocker Spaniel
jumps up to sit at my feet,
again it coughs as if it's mocking me
but the sound has changed
as if the fuel and spark
is reaching deeper into the steel monstrosity.

I know that the commercial quick-start can is empty,
are afraid that the battery by now is close to running low
when the Cocker Spaniel jumps down to the ground
starts whining affectionately
when my darling wife comes into the shed
with some hot coffee
and I do jump down to greet her with a kiss
while in moments together we both drink some of the hot liquid
while we do watch the fiery sun rising in the east.

Solitary it still stands
and I do kick at one of big back black wheels
climb up into the seat
and press the starter once again
it coughs again but do roar into life
as a thundering magnificent beast
that has woken in its lair
and this is going to be a beautiful sunny day
I do reckon when the wind does die down.

© Gert Strydom