The tractor coughed diesel,
choking on enlistment.
Pappaw watched,
relieved he won, without the fight.
I dug potatoes.
Hated gnats, the stooping,
dirt worked into my soul.
“We can’t eat what you don’t find.”
I carry his voice,
like gravel.
When I’ve had enough of soft things,
I take it out,
to hold my ground.