我爹在耕地，把马匹驱赶，
鼓圆了肩膀，像一张满帆
撑挂在车辕和土垄之间，
马匹使劲拉，他嘴里呃呃喊。

是行家。他把挡泥板装好，
把尖尖的钢刃固定，它琤亮，
草皮翻过去不会碎掉。
到垄头，缰绳啪的一声响，

汗淋淋的马匹转过身来
回到地里，他一只眼睛
眯成一条缝，向土地斜窥，
估出土垄间行距，确又准。

在他钉靴后，我跌跌撞撞，
有时跌倒于光滑的草皮，
有时他让我骑在他背上，
随他的脚步忽上来，忽下去。

我极想长大成人去耕地．
闭上一只眼，使双臂吃劲。
我能做的却只是在田里
随着他宽阔的影子行进。

我是个废物，总是绊倒，
跌交，哇啦哇啦叫，但现在
却是爹在我后面跌交，
跟着我，硬是不肯走开。

My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horse strained at his clicking tongue.

An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck

Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.

I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.

I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.

I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.