|Vol. VIII, No. 3, 1995|
by Roland Sodowski
|When toes ached despite our panting up
and stumbling down countless banks and draws,
chapped faces brush-stung on a moonless night,
we huddled at a fire near the pond,
and the men, their dogs' lean courage their own,
rolled cigarettes and groaned like heroes,
"That's old Dan; he's on it now"; "Dang Rowdy's
lost again"; "Now Bess's honoring Dan,"
while we boys yearned toward the heat
in the orange coals, dreamed of mounded quilts,
and wished the dogs would tree or die or be
struck dumb, sure once more it wasn't the night
they would bay manhood for us up the fork
of some gray and naked sycamore.
"Dopey" Ozark Champion, 1946. Courtesy of the Hob Nob Cafe, Hollister, Mo.
Copyright -- OzarksWatch