The Orchard Comedian

He looks under his straw hat
Face of Italian, leathered skin
That tanned in this orchard for forty years
Grinnin’ from the comedy within
Eighty year-old memories
Get jarred inside on rocky roads
Held in a farmer’s hand
Given to me fresh like they’d been froze
And his grandson has his humor, too
Standing back, but pitches in
Just to get granddad to hit
Another flawless grin
But, there’s a deep despair
And a hope in there
That he’ll spit like tobacco
With a most serious stare
It’s his dream and lifelong fight
To drive safely at night
And day
When he sales his wares
This beautiful man with the tanned skin
And soft under toned country-Italian
With the most special grin
Wrapped in a red-checked shirt
Smokes another cigarette, just as alert
Gets my jokes with a giggled jerk
As he wipes off the sweat
And tempers with a runny nose
Looks at us as we were gold
Able to take his torch to town
And use his voice to somehow crown
His road
With smooth, onyx pavement for the kids to trek
On school days on the bus they sit
Concerned
By the consequence of the two-a-day trips
To recite to their families what they just learned
The smooth, golden man with the special grin
Begs us to petition everyone we can
As we drive away
I laugh to myself, repeating his jokes
But
Deeper inside I’m inflamed
By his hope, his fight, his dream
Like a sticky note on my soul
On my own to-do list today
Reminding me that tomorrow- I have something
For him
To say

Traci Fisher