C. T. Suddeth

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.