Fixin’ Potholes

By Pete Tucker

Came home from the Med Center,
Had just been born.
My folks were a bit wearied,
Safe to say, careworn.

For the very first time
That I came down the lane.
I could tell even then
It’d be hell to maintain — where’s the shale?

Finally got to our house,
A sorta frazzled hovel.
And there it leaned on the rail,
A round-pointed shovel— where’s the shale?

I knew right then
I’d be heftin’ that thing.
Better practice right now,
Better start shoveling— where’s the shale?

Quickly came to realize
This was one lengthy lane.
A full crop of potholes
I knew would be my bane — where’s the shale?

When did I fill my first pothole?
I don’t really recall.
Safe to say, though
I was pretty damned small— where’s the shale?

So decades scrolled by
On this beleaguered road.
Shale was still cheap
Thirty five bucks a load.

So, we kept filling potholes
Though quite frustrated,
As the look on my face
Clearly illustrated.

It was a poor as hell method.
You see, shale turns to mud.
With one heavy rain
The lane’s a messy flood — damn the shale.

Overnight they reappeared
Each lousy pothole
Very much an understatement
The lane’s outta control!—where’s the shale.

Later on in life
The wife and I owned the farm.
We switched to QP.
Now that was the charm — to hell with shale.

The lane smoothed right out
Which caused me to wonder
Those years of shoveling shale
We’re really quite the blunder.

What took us so long
To figure that out?
It was a real simple matter,
I  sorta felt like a lout— damn the shale!

The lesson here is simple.
We’d used shale all along.
Didn’t mean that was right,
Hell, it was always wrong! — that rotten shale!