Charles Suddeth
We sped through North Vernon,
no one but us in the dark night.
Just past town, Dad pulled over,
snoozed while Mom snored.
I snuck out and leaned on a fence,
listening to trucks strain the steep grade,
their lights blurry in the chilly fog.
I wondered what the cornfields hid.
I could lean across the rickety bobwire,
grab ears of corn, but fear got me.
I pictured a farmer guarding his crop,
filling my backside with buckshot
and siccing his rabbit hounds.
Jiggly headlights lit up cornstalks,
a Studebaker turned onto the highway.
Wary of a cop’s spotlight waking Dad,
I huddled in the back seat,
head buried under my jacket.
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