The Tractor Speaks
I don’t like this grasshopper body.
I’m constant, I tremble, others use me,
a slave of the land. I tear open and lay flat.
Through me runs a shaft of painful, serene
transmission. It’s hard to drag
a cow to its grave. I’ve already injured
a leg. I hate the weight of the trailer.
Five years and I still don’t understand these
grimy parts that turn inside me.
At least the power shovel roars
(I love her). Scrap iron makes me shudder.
© 1978, António Osório
© Translation: 2008, Richard Zenith
