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Roads of Potter County
Finally Spring has come north here—
Always my favorite time of year.
Potter will tease you in some way—
Tomorrow might be a snowy day.
Instead there came the green of grass,
The white of snow its height surpassed.
I rode and mowed without a pain,
Across the lawn I would maintain.
But Potter’s roads my curse remains.
The holey asphalt and the bumpy lanes,
While down the road slow trucks I pass,
Inflicting torment on back and ass.
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Frank Rable is a poet living in Pennsylvania.
Potter’s potholes seem like those where I live. There is both a humor side and a well-expressed frustration side to your poem.
A lovely dose of humour to start the day.
Thanks for the read, Frank, and sorry about the bruised butt.
Thank you for your comment Roy. I have a good friend who lives there year round. The works of God in Potter County are beautifully manifest. Some refer to it as “God’s Country”. The works of man there, particularly secondary roads, do not show a similar devotion to the task.
The bruised butt belongs to a good friend who is a pastor there. He doesn’t just stay put. He gets around to where he is needed, despite the real pain he feels.
He’s not complaining so much as noting the irony that cutting the lawn gives a smoother ride. In my mind, if there is irony, there must be humor, and there must be a poem in it.
Paul, I’m happy to start off your day by sharing my poem with you and I thank you for reading it.
Haven’t been there, but I can relate. Nice work, Frank.
Thank you, Russel, I appreciate that.
I thoroughly enjoyed this, I close my eyes and can feel each pothole pitching the vehicle to and fro. It is nice to see that potholes are one thing that unites us all as Americans.
Thank you, Stephanie! I ‘m glad you enjoyed it, and I hope you dodge the potholes. All of them. Now you reminded me of something I was told about the Minneapolis area. It is said that they only have two seasons, which are Winter and Road Repair.
Frank, my dad’s family is from the Pottsville area (Schuylkill County) where roads seem the same–until summer arrives and the entire state settles down to slowed traffic during continual road repair. I suppose there would be less torment if we could get where we’re going by unhindered driving on lawns!
Yes, Margaret, you’re right about that, I think. A nice smooth lawn instead of the Penndot version of smooth asphalt.
Lovely poem. Excellent iambic tetrameter, with some healthy breaks in the rhythm.
Would you believe that the breaks were intended? I’m learning and improving. If I live long enough you may see me produce a 40 stanza narrative poem using dactylic hexameter. In the ancient Greek. The fact that I even know what that is sets me apart and above the hoi polloi of society. Oh, now don’t you go taking me seriously Christian. I have been checking every day to see if anyone else liked Roads of Potter County. And here you are to make it an even half dozen. And without fights and disagreements, that’s pretty good. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment. I appreciate it.
Hey look, I’ll let you in something. A poet (that’s me!) is not supposed to explain his method. I should just be allowing the reader to discover my intentions. However, to my detriment, I was probably much too subtle and almost nobody has mentioned it. You correctly noted the breaks in rhythm in a simple iambic tetrameter. But this was my attempt, perhaps ineffective, to convey the bone jarring bumps in a musical and non verbal way. One of the commenters did note that she felt and sensed the actual potholes, so I thought I had succeeded. Well, I won’t try that again for a while.
Smiling yet?
Don’t apologize, Frank, and never make excuses. Be what you are, because that’s what you’re best at. I grew up in Pennsylvania (Bucks County) as it used to be, and the worse the roads, the more I liked ’em.
C.B., I’ve lived in Bucks County since 1962. I remember Langhorne Speedway (the big left turn) I bought cars at Reedman and McCafferty, and ice cream at Greenwood dairies. There were no interstates until the early 70’s.
Now shh shh. I totally lied about deliberate breaks. The bullshit was deliberate though.
I don’t believe that Evan would allow me the embarrassment. He keeps me on the straight and narrow, God bless him.
Who is Christian Muller? I never saw the name before. He’s not a member. but feels comfortable damning me with faint praise.
Where are you, Mister Muller? Poems about torn up roads are not lovely. What is? Cold crisp autumn nights, sad farewells, sunsets, children at play, maybe even a drunk crawling through the mud if the right words are found. Thank you, CB, I will make no excuses for my iambic tetrameter. And nobody better point out the alleged breaks at this late hour. There’s other poems now.
If I may be frank, I lived in Bucks County until around 1971, and I worked a year at the U.S. Steel plant at Fairless Hills, just around the corner from William Penn’s estate. But I’ve always been a Dairy Queen guy.
Not Gibby’s? Not Dairy Delite? DQ instead? You should go back, it’s not too late.
Now let me tell you about my experience with the Steel plant, and in 1971 no less. You might remember the main gate sign. “U.S. Steel / Safety First / No fatal injuries in [ELECTRIC SIGN] days. Never saw it get higher than 8.
I had a summer job at Calumite Corporation, just next door. Calumite was a by product of the steel making process. My trainer took me around in a green company pick up. He showed me our plant and the Penn Warner railroad. He took me to the actual steel plant entrance. Suddenly a huge truck with huge rocks blocked the front. Then another blocked the back. Another on the side and there was nowhere to go. My trainer rolled his eyes and said “just be cool.” A loader swung its bucket full of huge rocks directly over our heads. My guy opened his door, leaned out, and yelled, “Hey! Quit f*****g around! The vehicles withdrew, all of them laughing. I was too scared to be scared. Every opening I had puckered shut. Which was a good thing, considering. I don’t have to tell you, Steel was a very dangerous place to work. OSHA was a joke. So they dealt with it by mocking death? I always thought that was a little crazy. And the electric sign was a joke. Occasionally, it was not turned on, and the next day it read “1”.
I worked at the Morrisville DQ a few years before I graduated to U.S. Steel, so I’m biased.
Frank, I just love this mellifluous marvel – especially the lines: “I rode and mowed without a pain, / Across the lawn I would maintain.” I also love the point that Mother Nature in all her fierce and fickle glory still manages to give us mere mortals a smoother ride through life than the paths we forge, maintain, and navigate. Great stuff!
Thank you so much! From you such kind words are true glory! I’ve been doing this for a year now and I think I’ve been getting better, but it’s not the simple thing many believe it to be. It’s not Doctor Suess, and it’s not that stream of consciousness nonsense, where you write until you can’t think of anything else. I see the point of rhyme and rhythm as a means of discipline in selection and use of words. And also to provide shades and layers of meaning. And even to add beauty to what would otherwise be just communication.
It really helps too when a poet like you specifies something that you found worthy of mention. That tells me that I’m on the right track. More virtual roses your way! Long stem of course!