IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
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MEN AND BOYS

Leo Dangel

My boy has reached that age when he wants to do the driving. Near noon, as we go home with a load of bales, he drives the tractor, and I stand on the drawbar behind him. At a corner on the gravel road, we meet a neighbor, a passenger like me, his boy behind the wheel, and we stop to talk. While the tractors idle and we discuss the moisture level in alfalfa bales, I notice the boys are taking turns making little pulls on the throttles, revving the motors. That power in their hands, they can't get over it, passing sly smiles between each other. My neighbor takes a sideways look at what the boys are doing, but we keep talking about hay, pretending not to notice so we don't have to tell them to knock it off.

 
 
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