Prairie Hank
you seemed so distant and dusty
like one of those sullen, unkempt boys
in tarnished photographs of prairie schoolchildren
true to form, I kept my distance
having no idea what to make of you
I don’t think anyone did
I can’t remember any of your classmates
purposefully acknowledging your presence
it was as if you weren’t really there–
a phantom, apparition, specter, shade
rumor had it that in part of your house
there were dirt floors
that would have been only fitting
on those occasions when you did show up
any work that you did was nearly unintelligible
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
how would your story have played out
if you had attended a rural school
a century past
learning your numbers and letters
with a few farm kids
you would have struggled there too
but, at the very least, your classmates
coming from the same difficult soil
would have better understood you
and what would it have mattered anyway
either your father or some other farmer
would have had plenty of work for you
work that required a strong back
more than it required reading and writing