Shotgun Riders

 

The rusty old pick-up

Holding up ladders

Is parked behind the barn

Worn tool belt on the floor

Buckets with brushes rest

On paint splattered seats

 

After he died they came

To my kitchen table

Each remembering their

Time as his shotgun rider

To unload, to work, to pack-up

Always talking about the game

 

Autumn setting up at deer camp

Chores completed with precision

They sat at his table to share

Beer, smoke, tell tall tales

Of youth, women, near-misses

Laughter connecting them

 

Decades passed while

He and the old truck kept on

Shotgun riders came and went

Now belonging to myths retold

At my kitchen table they sit

Next to his chair and weep

 

TobeTT # 6