I am a plow

     The farmer pushes his plow. Push, push. He pushes all day. It's hot outside. He's hot. The sun beats down on his shining head, the sweat trickles down his temple. The day is hot and dry.
     His ears pick up the distinct sound of the woodpecker, pecking away at the skin of the tree across the field. He stops. He listens. He closes his eyes and his mind floats, his entire soul floats. He is that mockingbird. But reality snaps him back. He plows.
     The farmer pushes his plow. He pushes, rows upon rows, he must finish before dusk falls. He has no choice. This is his life. He pushes until he has blisters on his hands. He feels the tender skin, longs for a time when he must plow no more. He closes his eyes and his mind floats, his entire soal floats. He is holding his hands under the cool, clear water. He hears the woodpecker pecking. He opens his eyes. He plows.
     Mid-afternoon, she comes to him. She brings him water to drink and food to eat. He sits with her in the shade of the woodpecker's tree. He leans against her, his rock, his light, his life. He loves her. He wishes he could sit there forever. He does not want to plow. But he plows.
     The farmer pushes his plow. He pushes until his day's work is done. The day's labor is finished, he can go home. But he must push the plow to it's resting place. He cannot leave it out. It is a burden he would rather not care for. But he pushes. He places it in it's bed, it's home, it's barn. It sits in the dark. It waits for morning.
     The farmer pushes his plow. Push, push. He pushes all day. He hates his plow. He depends upon his plow. He loathes his plow. He loathes his plow. He loathes his plow.
     I am a plow. The last wanted. The least preferred. I am the plow, that inconveniences the life around me, yet for some incomprehensible reason, I hold on still. They hold onto me, and I cling to them like a life-line. I do not want to be forgotten in the dark. I want to be reawoken each morning. But no one wants to awake me. Yet they come for me, each morning. They cannot live without me. I am a plow. Don't forget me.