Robert M. Simmons  

from Tracings (Poems 1964-1992)

                Horse Chestnuts

I am a kinger I thought

recalling that day in October

when I went with my father

to gather horse chestnuts.

We took a bus

to the other side of the city

where the houses were large,

the sidewalks were wide

and the streets were lined with chestnut trees.

A diminished autumn sun

warmed the air

as we walked past iron fences,

granite stairs,

brick walls draped with ivy

and cobblestone drives

leading to carriage houses.

Horse chestnuts

were part of a boy's wealth

along with marbles,

pitchcards and hockey pucks.

Paper bag in hand,

I foraged among golden leaves

for spiny green pods

containing the objects of my quest.

When we returned home that evening

tired and hungry,

my mother was waiting

with Saturday night supper

of baked beans, frankfurts

and potato salad.

The best specimens were selected

from my bag of chestnuts,

carefully drilled

and hung from knotted shoestrings

to be used in duels

where each combatant took turns

battering the chestnut of his opponent

until one of them cracked.

The surviving chestnut

was dubbed a kinger.

Some scarred veterans

achieved legendary status

and were saved in cigar boxes

or were pulled proudly from pockets

only to engage opponents

of equal reputation.

After all these years,

I am a kinger I thought,

flailing away at life,

waiting to be cracked.

                        © 2003 by Robert M. Simmons

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Subjects: poems about, horse chestnuts, hard knocks of life, Providence, RI, poetry, poems

Horse Chestnuts