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YT Article

Contributed Article

Derelict
A Poem
by Mac McLennan (Grandy)

In a ravine (near the bottom) where the Tiger Lilies bloom,
By man almost forgotten? Or, he'd just run out of room?
A heap of desperation? I'd a fight to hold the tears.
Beyond all restoration? --- I surmised --- too many years!

Had man (her god) intended, when she'd lost the legs to run,
To have her tour suspended? (does she lean to catch the sun?)
Her skeleton denuded! Some horses down? or lost?
Her god decreed: "we'll junk her, and to hell with what it cost!"

A name, 'McCormick Deering,' (a stencil?) on her side.
Did she fear the end was nearing? Had she hunkered down to hide?
One couldn't help but notice, there was rust between her toes.
Just nature, window dressing? (but she hardly knew her foes!)

Did her voice no longer thrill him? Had he cropped her name to, 'Dear'?
The bad words, 'Massey Harris,' spoken softly, lest she hear?
Had he asked the Tiger Lilies? would they mind? to share their bed?
Had he meant to ask forgiveness? but the words were never said?

Was it really room he's out of ? or was it just regard?
Seems an off-hand treatment for one who'd worked so hard
Pulling harrows! cultivators! harvest binders? twice her weight?
Now mostly all forgotten. Had her savior come? (too late?)

I stood awhile, to wonder --- what the circumstance had been.
A crafty gander under to discover? King? or Queen?
Adornment unmistakable! She'd all the vital signs!
But that's before she'd fallen! (for the Morning Glory vines?)

Vultures? Been to pick her bones? and leave the carcass rot?
Did any know her history, or was it long forgot?
No one there to claim her by, 'this derelict is mine . . .!
You fancy her? You take her!' (and no damn forms to sign!)

Imagine! Most a lifetime, taking cruises! in the sun!
Survived her boring training, (bloody plowing, 101!)
Her god had sanctioned running? and her playing in the sand?
But her world knew competition and the game got outta hand!

Years spent doing wheelies? (were there dealies on the side?)
Forever playing bridesmaid? (but never once a bride)
Traces on the faces? all the places where she'd been!
She'd touched too many bases? gotten old? Is that a sin?

A lifetime fixing fences? running circles? making sound?
And now, the consequences? Just a tiny plot of ground
In a ravine (near the bottom) where the Tiger Lilies grow.
Did her life had any meaning? (how would Tiger Lilies know?)

I turned away to quit the scene, to hurry my disguise.
I hoped no one had noticed but some tears caught in my eyes.
Pathetic! It seemed so unfair! Her reign should end this way?
But man, (her god) is blinded; and he has bills to pay!

Parts had been expended for now she's less than whole.
Cannibals attended? (they were searching for her soul?)
They'd raped her naked body? then fled, into the years
And taken what she'd treasured? (did they have to touch her gears?)

She'd never known religion but her faith was pretty strong.
Faithful, through the anxious years. (and some were more than long)
Good years? Years of plenty? (and some were plenty lean)
She'd kept her cool, regardless. But of course! She was a Queen!

She'd been tried! He'd found her guilty! of aging? dirty plugs?
Been sentenced to the ravine? to a bed of ants, and bugs!
She hides --- by god forgotten, but, remembering a time . . .
When she'd be up rather early, with important hills to climb!

Who, but time, would dare erase such legends? one by one?
Who, but time, could just forget, the trophies that were won?
Who, but time, could turn its back? pretend she'd never been?
Only man; (her god), deny, the wishes of a Queen.

If I had half a dollar ---? for every acre sown . . . ?
Every acre harvested? But no; she sleeps alone
In her ravine, (near the bottom) deep in Morning Glory vine,
Still dreaming reclamation, or, the warming sun to shine!

She's wishing? Every summer! when the plowing urge is strong.
She's waiting? Every winter! when the nights are cold, and long.
She's hoping; even praying, as the growing season nears
Her god might yet remember? She weeps. Nobody hears!


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