Bucksnort, Tennessee's Scattered Ballad: Nathaniel Lee Simons

The rusty truck bed was empty, Our hourly work Finished. Grandpa’d say, “Get in.”

Mom and that man rode away When I was Born, their son, they didn’t care, Didn’t call, except for our couple bucks.

The truck’s tires roared and spun mud up. Trees were coursing by, All that wood, A whole river of the stuff, I’d puke holding an axe— I hate splitting wood.

A wood-burner heated our shack Grandpa’d scheme, That look in his eyes, All kiddywampus, each night— I’d be working, self-teaching, fixing Except that furnace.

We got sick And tired, Shooting the four-ten for rodents Eating thin, tasteless squirrel meat. Taking a life isn’t a game, The kid down the road thought different. But the Natives sweated me, I’ll treasure their gift, A hundred-fifty year old blanket, I’d die for it.

Rolling through mountains Covered in wood I’d think, scoff: Appalachia! I’d make a name for myself, I can’t die here. Some thirty minutes would pass by That long, sigoggly road mesmerized.

I’d inherit Two thousand acres Around that shack, Burning hand-chopped logs. Each day, my hands split open, But my one friend Betrayed me For that temptress. He was old, Lonely, he died a few years after I left.

The truck would roll to a halt. We’d stop at Wendy’s The register’d ring up four bucks Two cheeseburgers for each of us. They tasted so good.