Boss I remember the way
that brown dirt felt and the dry
brown boogers I had after every
week of five am and “mom I
don’t wait to” and raw stained
thumbs from purple hull peas
and butter beans Boss you taught
me to work hard and took away
my fear of all bugs except roaches
and ladybugs because they
all flew around me Boss trying to
get at those small little flowers
Boss in the dew of the sunrise
around my bucket to do their
thing in making more of your
creation Boss there I sat
on an old orange two gallon
bucket Boss listening to the music
of your life around me in
the shadow of one of the greatest
men alive Boss next to you with
his big hands that I always
imagined you held the world with
and those plaid shirts I’m sure you
wear Boss with your wrangler
jeans and good boots Boss it
didn’t matter that it was a tobacco
barn or that my face was always
dirty from shaking the dirt off the
peanuts Boss or that my shirts
were all stained from that muddy
south Georgia water Boss it was
here that I learned to obey listen
be still and know that you created hard
work and an order to all things
and even those bugs in the corn
and play time afterward on a
four wheeler or with a fishing pole
and bare feet that never got
ringworm Boss and all that good
food even boiled ocra Boss and
all the side meat in the world and
catfish tales that fry up just so nice Boss
and I remember those old hickory
trees that danced with the smell
of high cotton and fat lighter and
The sound Boss of the red Georgia
clay under the tires on my way
Boss and the excitement of flying
over the hills and through the
woods to learn the love of all
you make Boss from the way he
always worked with his hands Boss
give him a field if you can and ask
him to plant an extra row of butter
beans Boss and I’ll be there
when they get ready with my bucket
and bare feet to do it all again
