Scales

Only 10 lbs. of cracked corn
I ask the old man for.
Even wait while he takes my time
to shift the wad and spit.
It’s to finish my 4-H calf
for the Fair.  Well, he might not
sell off any unless I’m willing
to pay the going rate.  I know
I’m a tall girl in tight jeans,
small breasts bearing July sun,
eyes level with the old man’s.
I can’t stay always a 4-H’er,
head heart hands health.  He hooks
two fingers over his edge
of the heaped scale.  My thumb
pushes up my side.