Monday, November 2, 2015


In good measure, all things remain ready :
the caliber, the weight, and the lift. Like the
best of actors, we all know our mark. This
new morning is colder. I arrive early and 
sit down chilled. The old man at the coffee
counter isn't getting any quicker.
Stories are always told, of salad days when
things were better. Who remembers now? The
things we forget are forever the bad. Driving
in a Pennsylvania midnight, cold and dark and
alone, over a jet black ridge name Wyoming?
Sure woke me from my drowsy with that sign.
Wyalusing Rocks again  -  I look out and there's 
nothing to see. Just a bunch of horny fracking workers
stumbling out of the little Lookout Cafe. Back to the
cabins they're renting nearby. The old guy once told
me those cabins were there for fifty years now, idle, 
leaning, and never used. Just falling apart slowly; and
I remember too. Now, he says, these energy-company
workers get put up in them for $800 each a month,
the energy company pays, and it never fails.
'These guys like to drink, and they like the women too.
Whatever can I say, I was young once, and they're all far
from home. Let 'em frolic, I figure  -  long as I get paid too.
Like I tell him, heh, heh, heh, 'you get laid; I get paid.''

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