The Trip to Reznicek's Farm

 By David Hann, Lawrence KS

                       

The truck was a Toyota '79 that carried a half ton load. 

The trailer was a chopped down pickup bed, converted to be towed. 

"Almost two tons," Willie Joe said, "A cinch, if we have some luck." 

He thumped with his fist the epoxied bed of his weathered pickup truck. 

 

Canned foam called "Great Stuff" filled holes in the Toyota's doors. 

A plywood piece was judged good enough for gaps in the front seat floors. 

The passenger seat was a wooden chair screwed tight to the dubious frame. 

Two cracked windows leaked some air and four tires did the same. 

                                 

The blacktop we took was one rough ride, and Kansas 9 I'm told, 

Is called by some "The Devil's Pride," but worse, is Reznicek's road. 

Call it a road? Don't make me laugh! It’s rough as a dry stream bed. 

Rusted wrecks line the path, and vultures wheel overhead. 

 

But no matter what, we had to go and make the pickup strain. 

Cause we wanted our baby chicks to grow and Reznicek had organic grain.  

 

The pickup assaulted potholes and ruts.  Was my chair screwed tight enough? 

Joe said, “Once we get over this easy part the going might get tough.” 

Joe spoke these words with nonchalance.  He had made the trip before. 

Our bodies would heal from this beating, but could the pickup take much more? 

 

A long way to go for corn and beans, you say, over bad roads and weather. 

But in eight weeks seven pounds they’ll weigh, those little fluffs of feather. 

Two tons of grain will multiply, coming out in feathers and flesh, 

On 200 chickens ready to fry, slaughtered and frozen fresh. 

 

We came upon a flooded stretch we had to try and ford. 

I just yelled, “Talley Ho!” and gripped the charred dashboard. 

Joe yelled, “Right on! We’ve got nothing to lose.” 

“Except ourselves,” I said to myself, as the water flowed over my shoes. 

 

The Toyota plowed ahead just like a mountain goat. 

At last I was able to swallow the lump that was in my throat. 

The clouds finally parted, our race was almost done. 

And there was Reznicek’s farm illuminated by the sun. 

 

 

Reznicek sat there waiting, slowly shaking his head. 

"My hopes for you were fading,” he said. “I thought that you were dead." 

Yes, we got to Reznicek's all intact. He helped us with our load. 

We brought ourselves back with two tons of grain, safe from Reznicek's road. 

 

That's how it is until again we send ourselves over roads for hours. 

Reznicek waiting on his end, and the chickens waiting on ours.