I’d jump at the chance to ride shotgun <br />on Henry’s medicine wagon <br />rolling from city to village <br />hawking 'Stickin’ Salve' and 'Oil of Gladness'. <br /> <br />We’d ride into Elmira’s County Fair <br />and set up over by the lake. <br />I’d fix Diamond a pail of oats <br />and pour her a bucket of water. <br />while great, great grandpa <br />dons his Union coat and cap <br />and arranges potions on the shelves. <br /> <br />Henry’s voice would cut the air <br />like a megaphone <br />and people would gather close - <br />lured by an old soldier's <br />hypnotic banter of miracle cures - <br />and perilous Civil War battles. <br /> <br />Then he’d swear on his mother’s Lumbago <br />that 'Stickin’ Salve' works just as well <br />as the lead and powder <br />he’d fired at Cedar Mountain. <br /> <br />The folks would shake with mirth <br />each time the old man bellowed, <br />“I’m Henry Howard from Bunker Hill - <br />Never worked and never will.' <br />Women would tug their husband's sleeves <br />and they’d bring me pennies and dimes. <br /> <br />After dusk we’d tally the coins <br />and latch down the wagon for the night. <br />At sunrise I'd wipe his brow - <br />to ease him gently back <br />from the thunder of enemy shells <br />still firing in his restless sleep. <br /> <br />We'd cook up some bacon and biscuits <br />then hitch old Diamond to the wagon <br />and head south through the rolling hills <br />along the Tioga valley. <br />We’d breathe in the fresh country air <br />and tip our hats to the farmers. <br /> <br />If Henry would come to tap my shoulder <br />some promising morning in spring <br />and whisper 'the wagon's hitched outside, ' <br />I’d go in a Tioga minute. <br /> <br /><I> December, 2006</I><br /><br />Robert Charles Howard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/medicine-wagon/
