Pumpkin Harvesters

In town the café’s coffee buzz seeps
through door to street

a greenhorn singer moans her song,
not as in the old days (as in
rockabilly and rock ‘n roll before)
but with power chords and a
fresh monotony

my dad preferred country tunes
and hearing James Brown first time
stopped where my big-holed 45 spun
and in crass blue-collar voice said,
You call this shit music?  —and I did
as we spun off each other about then
and went our separate ways awhile
until a fresh dew on the pumpkin froze
in a new late game and the harvesters
off across the field sang James
Brown and Hank Williams
as they came


Jim Culleny; November 2007


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