HE & SHE: Circa 1929 Here he was the summer of '29, driving a coal truck from upstate down route 611 towards Philly. He bought cosmos at a road side stand with a few pennies and shifted through six gears. Drifting in and out of sleep, the lines of imagination swerved as he thought of her waiting on the front porch, snapping beans. Waiting for him. Just him. He would go directly to her after dumping the final load of coal. He would walk up, in his dusty work clothes, a green thermos under his left arm, his right hand behind his back: the calloused hand, the delicate cosmos, a still life of their own. She'd place the strainer of beans on her lap & lean left to peek behind him, but he'd shift his weight from one foot to another extending the thrill of his prize. Music would play and their shadows would fox trot or lope or pace. The music would be carried, not by air, but touch. He would stand there a life time, admiring her hands folded, the knuckles red from scrubbing floors; she'd reach out and touch his left hand. No words; words were for the unfamiliar. Gestures, turns, a bit of eye contact spoke proof. He'd bring his hand from behind his back and deliver the flowers that suffered the same exhausting trip in the dump truck arriving where they finally belonged.
Reason for writing:
I wrote this poem after both my wife's grand parents had died.
I knew themvery well and was close to them. Gramps use to tell
me his stories of when he first fell in love with Evelyn. He
provided the raw materials for this poem; I simply gave it structure
and hopefully a life of its own.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Tim Gavin - Pisces.