“The Birthday Present,” New Era, Aug. 1983, 20
This new tractor was large and sturdy
but most of all it was red.
Things moved quicker painted red,
like fire engines, and there had been
two red candles on that cake
that had disappeared so fast.
Red. Big people spoke to him
but the tractor spoke louder,
of cold tile floors in need of plowing.
The wheels turned smoothly as the blades
dug up acres under the kitchen table
so he ignored the ache in his knees.
He wiped his forehead.
It would be a fine harvest!
He kept his eyes on the end of the row
while the wheels turned smoothly,
the engine hummed softly
and said red, red.