My mother has horses and horses eat hay
And that’s why each summer on one special day
Their food in the fields is cut into cubes
Then we all have to load it and stack it up too.
Be it piling the bales in the loft with no air
Or sending them skyward upon the conveyor,
No part of this job is a snap, that’s a fact.
We get prickled and poked and congested and scratched.
The feeling of straw on my skin makes me squirm.
It makes my nose run and my eyes start to burn.
We slave and we sweat in the hot summer sun.
Bale after bale, each one weighs a ton.
We unload a wagon, it’s over, we’re done.
That is, for a moment, until the next one.
Quick! Use the bathroom, lay down, get a drink!
The tractor is starting. Did you have time to blink?
The temperature’s boiling, the air brings no breeze.
Keep working! They’re waiting! Just haul while you sneeze!
Then right when you feel you can’t bear one more run-
At last! We are finished! Nice job! It’s been fun!
My nostrils are lined with hayseed and dirt.
My fingers are raw, and boy, do they hurt.
I just took a shower but can’t shake the stink.
The me in the mirror is itchy and pink.
But as we relax and the sun slowly sets
The horses- quite thankful, my folks’ minds at rest,
I sit under a fan, let out a soft cheer,
And thank God that hay day comes just once a year.