The Anvil - Kelly Joe Phelps

There are some that blindly and happily plow

While the tractor screams «Feed me some oil»

The scraping of gears and the gnashing of teeth

Fall softly on full ahead ears

A frown may give away something right

A smile can hide crooked affairs

The sun on the back rings a work man’s guffaw

It’s all in the bag with coins

Call me tomorrow, then come over here

See if we can figure this out

There in an eye winking curiously

By the campground, the bedside night stand

My leg bones feel weary yet walk on they will

Holding for wheels and gravy

On a plate full of nothing but shaking my head

With a side bowl of nothing to do

Could be a time thing, could be a ruse

And I will concede to confusion

Ideas spin 'round my crazy old head

Hard as (and light as) an anvil

The liver will wither and wax with the tide

Fine, if I can find the answer

To a question I’ve never been asked before

I hear time and time again