~Z. MICHAEL JACK~

1955: AN INCENDIARY YEAR IN THE REGISTER,CLAIMING

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1955: an incendiary year in the Register, claiming 
Ike and the man who threatened to bury the whole 
shootin' match ought to settle it, instead, like chaps, 
on the cornfield—see who could raise the greatest yields, 
all things being equal.  But they weren't equal 
and Grandfather, who rooted always for the underdog, 
packed his bags for Coon Rapids, curious to see 
the face of the oppressor.  Truth is, he wanted to plow 
through the crowd and bend the Chairman's ear 
to the idea of a morning drive, just the two of them. 
Grab your hat.  He would explain along the way 
the sacred science of hybrids and, by virtue of his 
yeoman's knowledge of this most esoteric of arts, 
find himself ingratiated.  Truth be told, 
scribblers crowded his gig, nosed so close to the trough 
all Grandfather could make out was a hawkish profile 
of Garst himself, shooing the reporters with cornstalks. 
Consolation dictated Grandfather would catch it all 
in his stand-by, Golden Harvest seedcorn notebook, 
the one he roped-in from company headquarters 
along with fashionless ball caps and decals he stored 
in the defunct refrigerator in the shed, where last year's 
apples stewed, ready for lean times sure to follow.
 
 

© by Z. Michael Jack