Pecans
J. Quinn Brisben
Dividing railroad land from public street,
The breeze impales Fall jetsam on the fence
Where pecan sacks are hawked by hustling gents
Who know these nuts make pies, so smooth and sweet,
Or lovely salted snacks, a tempting treat.
But we pass on, for laziness prevents
Our buying. Time is scarce. It makes more sense
To pay for shelled ones, just enjoy the meat.
An Alabama uncle used to crack
All evening as he talked of early days,
Of mules and mud and work that pained the back,
Of sweat-soaked folk whose stern and steady gaze
Hand-tinted, looked upon us, judging our knack
Of prizing comfort more than hard-earned praise.
