Monday, December 24, 2012

Pickin' Time



I grew up in North Alabama during the 1950's. Life was mostly laid back during the summer, but come fall harvesting cotton became an activity of focus by most poor people. Pickin' cotton meant we could have a few extras mostly in the form of food.

Here is a short poem about my experience pickin' cotton. Hope none of my offspring ever have to experience that.


         PICKIN’ TIME

Rooster crows, feet on floor
Breakfast: sausage, gravy, biscuit
Coffee, two cups, blood flows

 
Hug from mom, out the door
Sun high dew dried, fluffy locks
Strap over shoulder, bend to it

Drag sack, up one row down the other                 
Again, down and back; sun sinks low
Scale reads ninety, not one ounce more

Two bills, two quarters, two dimes
Sack of flour, pound of lard
Back ache,liniment rub from mom

Wood stove stoked, oil lamp on table
Silent supper sound sleep
Rooster crows, feet on floor

Dale Butler
December 19, 2012

                  

              
                              

2 comments:

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  2. Lynn Fisher said...
    Wow, really gives the overall sence of just how much work this was. My mom picked cotton and has always told of how hard that was. Great poem.
    Lynn

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