SPARE A DIME

SPARE A DIME

Adam Jones

A dusty bronze sculpture sits upon my buffet.
“Spare a dime” is it’s title, but it’s more than just clay.

All my youth it set in my grandparent’s house,
A gift from their daughter and her spouse.
Made in Colorado by someone unknown,
It made its way to Kansas and found a home.

As a boy I gazed upon it every time I was in that place.
One of three cowboy sculptures that brought a smile to my face.
One had a saddle, ready to heave on his horse’s back.
One with a shotgun to guard his treasure chest in black.

But it was the one of a cowboy looking into his open palm,
That drew me in and gave me a feeling of calm.
Pointed toe boots, tight jeans, and shirt half out,
Only in my mind did this olden day wrangler wander about.
With his sleeves rolled up and cowboy hat on his head,
I believed he was just finishing a long day’s work, looking for a bed.
I envied this man for his seeming contentment with life.
He looked full of wisdom with nary a strife.
Bowed legs and a bone thin stature let me know,
He rode for the brand and didn’t have to put on a show.

To many he was just a statue that may not have meant much at all,
But he was good enough for my grandpa to hang on his wall.
That probably explains why I am so endeared,
For I only received him after the day I had long feared.
Losing my grandpa was not an easy thing,
Still gazing upon this cowboy his voice I hear ring.
“Work hard and don’t quit until the jobs done.”
His voice fills my head when I’m out in the sun.
When the going gets tough and I just want to give in,
His memory pushes me on, and I know I can win.

Just a cowboy sculpture, but he sure means a lot,
For he reminds me of my grandpa, never to be forgot.

I SEE MARQUETTE FIRST

I SEE MARQUETTE FIRST

Adams Jones

The end of a long journey or just a trip for groceries,
This childhood game will always remain in my memories.
As soon as grandpa made the turn at the twelve mile corner,
All our eyes were peeled, wanting to be the winner.

Cruising up and down the hills ready to burst,
That oh so familiar phrase “I See Marquette First!”
At the top of every hill I hoped it would come into view,
Collingwood Grain’s big white elevator of which we all knew.
Peering over the seat in front, were all our childhood faces.
This of course before seatbelts were required in all places.

Grandma may try to steer your attention with questions about school,
Usually causing distraction, as she is the champion still.
Arguments could ensue as many claimed the win,
Needing a referee, it was always grandpa who stepped in.

I find it odd these days when I claim to be the first see,
That my passenger has not a clue as to why I yell out with glee.
It seems not everyone has the need to quench their competitive thirst,
As those who rode in a Martin car and exclaimed, “I See Marquette First!”