Peace

Ed Hanson called me a week ago or so and told me he was reading this blog. Well, lo and behold, a couple of years ago I wrote a poem based on his experience and written from his point of view. It's not a history poem. I made up some stuff, but the poem tells the truth about seeking peace from the demands of hard work. Ed and Nancy no longer run the Tall Pine, but I hope this poem doesn't do a disservice by reminding them of some days they'd rather forget. If you don't live in the Silver Valley, then you won't know how I fudged with facts. For example, Seven Feathers is a casino south of Roseburg, OR. I like the name of it so I put in close to the Silver Valley. Art Listoe has been dead a long time, but I like his name, so I had him see Ed's accident. I don't know if logging truck engines ever get repaired in Newport, but I liked the sound of it. You get the idea. It ain't a history poem. It's a poem about peace. It was published last spring in The Community College Moment. The editor thought enough of the poem to make it the first piece in the spring issue.

Peace

When Nancy quit Subway to run the Tall Pine

We knew it’d be some work, but shit

You hire these kids and they’re always wantin’ time off

Like Chantell called last night and

Said she couldn’t make it because Saturday was her

Boyfriend’s uncle’s new girlfriend’s birthday

And she had to go over to Thompson Falls for the party. And then

Last week we paid out a thousand bucks

For one of them computer cash registers

And right off Melanie spilled a goddamn huckleberry shake

All over it and the son of a bitch froze up

Colder than a polar bear’s ass.

Last night my log truck engine blew

And Buff had to haul it up to a shop two hours

Out of Spokane in Newport and who knows when I can drive again

But, Christ, who wants to haul logs anyway with this rod in my leg

The pins damn near poking through my skin

Thanks to scarin’ the shit out of old Art Listoe

When he drove up for some curly fries

And yells out his old Dodge Ram that I look like a pig on ice

Floppin’ around up there on the Tall Pine roof,

Fixin’ that kitchen outtake fan but changin’ his tune

When I fell off and bounced my pelvis like a ­­­ping pong ball off the parking lot.

It just ain’t right, Bill, but I got some time tomorrow

So let’s get down to Seven Feathers

And kick the holy hell out of that new I Dream of Jeannie machine

Clear the cobwebs

And see if I can find some real peace.