I remember the sale barn
In the summer of my 14th year
The stench of hog that wouldn’t go away
Without a week’s washing
Just in time for the next week’s hog sale
Their nerve-throttled, panicked squeals began
When their heads were pinned, immobile
In the welded-iron gate where
We cut their razor tusks between
The bypass blades of heavy loppers
Cow days were more pleasant
If only for toiling in the absence of hog stench
A hump-backed, brazen brahma bull
Barreling down the chute
I sprinted for the wooden gate
But swung its heft too late
He met it full force,
Raising a gate-given strawberry
Upon my forehead,
A memento of summer at the sale barn
11-9-2013
©2019 Lenny Wells
Thoughts From The Orchard 