Married Life

by Candace Hennekens

My husband doesn’t want to move

from the front row at the tractor

pulling contest in the community park.

I feel like a picked dandelion

drooping in a juice glass.

I worry that my feet in sandals

will burn without sun block.

My scalp sweats under my cotton hat.

My lips feel dry, my throat parched.

I’m hotter than a desert rock in Death Valley.

He says I don’t need to sit there.

So, I beat a retreat to the beer tent

sit and relax at a table, comparing

notes with two old farmers about

how hot we are. Suddenly I am hit

by a rush of feelings about being married.

I am inclined to like it. After a while,

I buy chicken dinners, cold pops,

give my husband his and return

to my spot in the tent. Eating

and drinking, I listen to the announcer

but I watch my husband, enjoying

our bond. Suddenly he stands up, comes

my way, saying we can leave anytime I want.

We meander past the tractor pull, stop

to watch a John Deere slowly without

drama pull the weight wagon all the way

to the end of the track. That’s a winner,

my husband says. Then we leave

to go back home where I can be cool.

~ first published in Rosebud