High-Grader from Hades

by Anita Collins
libawc@emory.edu


My husband likes to holler
He likes to scream and moan
That the ugly rocks he finds afield
I won't let him take home.

I'm the High-Grader from Hades
You might say I am choosey
I ransack my husbands' buckets
And toss out all his doosies.

I throw out rocks both big and small
Size isn't the real issue
And when his cheeks are streaked with tears
I hand him a dry tissue.

I'm the High-Grader from Hades
How could he really choose
A rock that has no sparkle
No splash of greens or blues?

I asked him why he even stooped
To pick up this grey blob
But I couldn't hear his answer
Through the sniveling and the sobs.

I'm the High-Grader from Hades
To him it's all too real
I throw his rocks both far and wide
And do it with such zeal.

What made him want to take this home?
It has no crystal faces
There is no iridescence
And it's broken in three places.

I'm the High-Grader from Hades
I won't let him bring home
A "yard rock" that's so very big
It takes up two time zones.

I know that there's a reason
Why he had to have this shale
If he splits it open enough times
Inside he'll find a whale.

I'm the High-Grader from Hades
Of this we both are certain
But he thanks me in the morning
When his back and legs aren't hurtin'.

It's not that I am vicious
It's not that I'm a louse
It's just that we've run out of room
In our three story house.


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bkeller@rockhounds.com 7/11/95