Bpractical Purposes Poem by Barry A. Lanier

For practical purposes, my father was dreamer,
He'd be driving down the road, the suddenly turn around.
Did you see that?
'What! , I would reply.'
I could use that in my Halloween project.
An old discarded Maytag washing machine,
Maybe 40 years old.
I can remember your grandmother when she got her first one,
Directly from Sears Roebuck for her aniversary.
He'd take the old washer, and remove all the parts,
Like a surgeon, dissecting and inspecting.
Telling me how this would open the coffin,
And this part would raise the cadever,
And this part would raise his hand,
And the children would scream!
He was the producer, the director, the audience.
Weaving the tale as he drove along, a smile surfaced,
Dreaming of the children's muffled screams and excitement.
Followed by smiles and giggles, mission accomplished.
I never really could figure Father out,
A farmer, and five parts stores in town.
He'd never buy a new part.
Working on tractors and machinery for forty years,
But he always kept it all running.
A graveyard of old tractors, cars, trucks, machinery.
But he'd never buy a new part.
Then he'd tell me about his first tractor,
A brand new Ford-T, gray with blue trim,
Plow a 40 acre field in a day with time to spare.
That must have been 50 years ago I thought.
Pulling up to the house, I could see the garden,
An automatic watering system flooding the starving corn.
Made from Mom's new dishwasher.