Beneath a billowed sack clothe tent
An auctioneer’s words gallop in dollops.
Foreign-tongued Americans sit in attention.
black-bonneted bidders (number in hand)
Chirp for cowl or coat, yelp for yarn,
Church books, wool hats, many lengths of linen,
Plethora of quilting. Each lady bides her time until
She points or winks or nods her bid.
Each calls to mind a measure of that life she shared.
Their men inspect implements laid firm against gray fence,
even to the enameled chamber pot pure and winter white.
Rake, hoe, watering can, all is offered, noticed,
Taken for a price with familial love.
Untimely winds spin dust from the field through the tent
To dress coarse black garments with a hint of brown manure.
The whole ad hoc family moves at last to the front yard.
Magnificent ancient bed, mahogany desk,
Cherry wood breakfront seven feet tall,
Shaker chairs, porch rocker and a modern recliner
Soon sit atop truck or car or wagon.
Auction done cows, horses, dogs and cats are led away.
As we walk to our van an old man speaks to me
“Most tings stayed in ‘er family”.
Leaving, we were only strangers looking for a bargain,
Happy with a four-dollar table of no consequence.