GOING TO WORK AT THE POWER CO.
Some people don’t need as much sleep as others. I go to bed at midnight, pray, get up at five and watch for blown fuses at the crosses of the power-poles on the way to work. I used to chat in the hall. Now my boss doesn’t live in my state. Some mornings I daydream
that just before 8 AM the janitor
in the Dakota office unplugs
the extension cord from between my boss’
shoulder blades.
Used to be when cattle didn’t feel like moving on to the slaughtering house they’d rub on a power pole until they grounded the line. Then, one after another, they’d carry God for a quarter second. He would pause, remake their centers and stream out their hooves. I’d come out
and wrangle that snaking copper with the reverence
due God. Then I’d put the cash to cover the dead cows
in the hand of the rancher.
Today, after the conference call, my ear is sore like someone punched a tag through. I sit in my office waiting
for the ranch hands to storm in
brandishing cattle prods, to pen
everyone up and drive us
to the shoots. They’ll force us up
the long ramp and then one by one
we’ll fall down the slide and wham!
with the sledge hammer.
I think I’d rather get washed away fording a river.
They’d find me at a bend,
just a hand and whatever the coyotes
wouldn’t eat before they went to sleep
in the prairie grass, their stomachs
quietly working to give
me back to God through the afternoon.
1 response so far ↓
1 mackenzie // Apr 13, 2009 at 4:16 pm
GOES TO WORK AT THE POWER CO.
Some people don’t need as much sleep as others. I go to bed at midnight, pray, get up at five and watch for blown fuses at the crosses of the power-poles on the way to work. I used to chat in the hall. Now my boss doesn’t live in my state. Some mornings I daydream
that just before 8 AM the janitor
in the Dakota office unplugs
the extension cord from between my boss’
shoulder blades.
Used to be when cattle didn’t feel like moving on to the slaughtering house they’d rub on a power pole until they grounded the line. Then, one after another, they’d carry God for a quarter second. He would pause, remake their centers and stream out their hooves. I’d come out
and wrangle that snaking copper with reverence.
Then I’d put the cash to cover the dead cows
in the hand of the rancher.
Today, after the conference call, my ear is sore like I’ve just had a tag punched through. I sit in my office waiting
for the ranch hands to storm in
brandishing cattle prods, to pen
everyone up and drive us
to the shoots. They’ll force us up
the long ramp and then one by one
we’ll fall down the slide and wham!
with the sledge hammer.
I think I’d rather get washed away fording a river.
They’d find me at a bend,
just a hand or whatever the coyotes
hadn’t eaten before they went to sleep
in the prairie grass, their stomachs
quietly working to give
me back to God through the afternoon.
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