Hot Stove Controversy

I raised the latch, entered the loose-hung door And found myself within the country store.

A silence fell, but words still hung in air; I knew there would be talk, were I not there; Around the stove a group of seated men, With pipes well lit, waited to talk again.

Leaning against the counter others stood Like awkward figures carved from native wood. The old stove cast across the store a gleam, Its glowing sides seemed bulged to burst a seam.

I found a keg and sat down near the door, It almost seemed I had been there before; One farmer eyed me up and down, then spoke, He seemed content and so the silence broke.

Another, sensing he was not alone, Began to speak in slow-spaced monotone; And all their talk was good with well-turned speech, The firelight showed the earnest face of each ....

I’ve been in offices above the street, With plate-glass doors, where well-known magnates meet; There they discussed the times, the day’s events, And even added much of common sense.

But if I had the chance, I would slip down Into the main street of that little town, To hear again the hot stove argument, And feel myself both honored and content.