Loaf Of Bread
It’d been hard n’ heavy sledding
Out in the “oil patch”
Days that sometimes seemed like weeks
When even “upsides” had a “catch”,
His job was flying bush-plane
Between the many sites
Equipment, goods, and personnel
A lot of sleepless nights,
Stormy weather, schedules
And unforeseen delays
Hiccups to the bottom-line
Too many “git ‘er done” delays,
Like lots of men who live that life
He’d always had the urge to roam
In versions of “the other side”
There’s no grass like that at home,
He was working, now, quite locally
It should have been a chance to rest
But his woman – was the very type
Who liked to put him – to the test,
Then came the night, him really beat
He barely made it thru the door
Could hardly wait for Christmas break
Let his boots fall on the floor,
“That stew sure smells really good
I’m so tired, I’m half dead!”
“I see you’re like your usual self
What about my loaf of bread?
I’m all done, now, reminding you
You git right off to the store
No bread means no supper – see
And – don’t dare slam the door!”
He’d tried his best to make it go
She just had that sort of mind
He simply up, and started over
Leaving be-all end-all far behind,
He quit everything, just as it was
All his life left in “that shack”
He never did pick up the bread
And – never never did go back!
But, every year at Christmas
And – sometimes now and then
He thinks a bit ’bout Peace On Earth
And … the way it might have been!
D.C. Butterfield
