The Hobbs boys were in today for dinner,
Three generations
Clambering down from the sprayer
And clumping through the door
In muddy boots.
Jay Ray, patriarch, pushing seventy
Weathered face, gnarled hands
And bright blue eyes
That twinkle when he smiles.
Lee Jay, barely forty,
Face ruddy and already lined
From the sun and the worries
That come with this hard-scrabble
Life he has chosen.
Finally, Bay Lee, not quite five.
Tow-headed and full of joy.
He runs across the restaurant
To give me his order
“A cheese and a burger”
Proud as can be that he is helping today.
He tells me he is going to be a farmer,
Like grandpa, like daddy,
And I whisper a fervent prayer
That there will still be family farms
When he is old enough to be the patriarch
And bring two new generations
In for dinner.