First Shave In Kansas

I will never grow
Hard winter wheat
But watched it sway
A golden pool of grain
One thousand acre views
More single seeds than I could imagine

My grandfather seemed to know
Each row of ripening wheat
So many years up high
On an open tractor
Broad rimmed hat
Between him and the Kansas sun

I didn't really know him
But recall a few of his spare words
"Thirty days till frost," he'd say
Smiling on a warm September evening
Upon hearing the first locust sing
I collected translucent skins
Clinging to the elm trees
Caught those locust bugs
Shaking them by their wings
Until they buzzed

Carefully cupping the insect
Near my chin and cheeks
Mimicking a perfect shave
From a triple floating action electric razor
As the locust hummed

Gregory Zeorlin  9/4/2002  9:50pm