The Robuam

At one time I worked on road construction in western South Dakota. My coworkers and I referred to ourselves as the Road Builders of  America.

The Robuam

Lenny I

1. Never be late or make it obvious.

2. Miss Utah of 1967 was my wife.

3. I've had six corvettes.

4. Get drunk every night and give it to the men the next day.

5. Dress like a pig, live like a pig.

6. Get a laugh out of a near fatal accident.

Ray I

1. Silent Ray with his mustache sitting in the shade.

2. It's no biggy.

Pat I

1. It's your mother too, son.

Padre I

1. Bundled up in coats in summer.

Moe I

1. Padre's got pneumonia.

Roy I

1. I got tar on my boots but road builders are tough.

Donut I.

1. Get that steel laid. Yup, yup boys, that's the idea.

2. Got a road to build.

Beek I

1. Back in ‘02 we didn’t have trucks.

Lenny II

1. You can't drive a truck?

The Steel Truck

The steel truck is everyone’s dream and curse.

They dream to get on her.

And curse the steel she brings

I got on near the end but caught a little of the charisma all steel truckers have.

It was hot and there was Hooksa, Jim, Ray and me.

It was burning hot and we went so slow that Ray even slept. Ray was driving. Jim would tap him when we went towards the ditch.

Hooksa and I would jump off to throw bent steel on the truck.

Jim decided to drive behind in his car.

Hooksa cursed him and called him a commie.

Jim was from Texas and disliked commies. He hated Hooksa.

Hooksa decided it was time the truck had a flat for it hadn’t had one all summer. Hooksa pounded a nail into the front tire. It was a hot job so he drank all of Jim’s icewater.

Ray drove slow so that the air could come out. Hooksa and I walked alongside listening to the hiss. It took a long time to go flat, but it was worth it because the mechanic would take all afternoon to change it. Then we would have to stop doing nothing to stop working.

Jim and Ray went to tell the mechanics and get icewater. The mechanics gave them a new tire. Hooksa and I had to change the tire. When we were finally done, Jim and Ray had drunk all the icewater.

The next day they gave us a new man, Roger. He and Hooksa thought it was fun to see how many steel rods we could lift. They called Jim a lazy commie.

“I can lift more rods than you Pollock commie can any day,” said Jim.

So Jim would get on one end, Roger and Hooksa on the other end and I was in the middle where it was twice as heavy as either end. We picked up three rods, which was ninety pounds in the middle and had to throw it onto the truck bed which was almost five feet high.

“You call that hard,” said Jim after we did it.

“I didn’t say that,” said Hooksa. “Let’s lift five rods next time.”

I had a heck of a time getting my hands around five rods and an even harder time lifting them.

“Well,” I said after nearly breaking my back, “You guys can do it, so let’s go back to two rods.”

“That’s alright with me,” said Jim.

“The commie’s had enough,” said Hooksa.

“I thought you would,” said Jim.

“Let’s take eight,” said Roger.

So I bitched while we tried to get our hands around eight. We had to settle for seven. I was afraid the whole thing would fall on me.

“Ray,” I shouted, “Come and give me some help.”

But Ray was asleep in the cab and didn’t answer.

So sweating blood, I managed to get it barely up and onto the truck bed.

Then we came to the crane. It was parked in the middle of the road bed in the middle of the project. Roger and Jim went to sleep in the shade under it while Ray and I added oil and water to the truck.

“Let’s fix this crane,” said Hooksa. “It never did run too well so they’ll never know the difference. Give me some crackers out of Jim’s lunch box.”

So I gave him Jim’s crackers. He crumbled them and dumped them into the gas tank, which wasn’t quite enough, so he urinated into it.

“Now they’ll have a time figuring out what’s wrong,” laughed Hooksa, “It’ll just sit here in the middle of the road.”

The next day they ran out of jobs for the steel truck.

Dick

 I remember Dick

Getting drunker than I would like

To fall into my room

Or walking behind girls

And talking under his breath

Or eating like an animal

And grinning wide

Sitting with a big bosomed girl

Playing games with his eyes

Getting into fights

Taking his girl to a motel

Only to sleep on the couch

Quiet Dick on a hot day

Discussing life

Over ice cream

Or running for senator

With his business friends

Crazy Dick

Wearing green slacks

For sixty days

Dragging me out into the night

For a quiet peace march

Of a hundred candles

Or running in the snow

With his crazy laugh

Rolling oranges in the hall

Selling mattresses

Smoking cigars

Living life

More than I can ever hope to.

Rain

 The rain comes on a gray day

The clouds like a single sheet

Blending the sky and earth

The drops fall cool, steady and life giving

Hitting me as I walk and jump

Around clear new crystal puddles

The coolness charging me up

And blanching my breath

As I walk under dripping trees

So dark and green and alive

The distant buildings grayed colorless

But looking so new and alive

As I walk across shiny asphalt

Like a shallow white lake

Mirroring cars and people around me

And metal shining bright like jewels

And glass like giant diamonds

Overlooking leaves pasted to sidewalks

And lying limp in dark green grass

To walk forever getting wet

Dripping my hair, spotting my glasses

So that things blur as I turn my head

To see pools appearing inky black

But so clear as to vanish when I near

And the mist hugs me

And I respond by thinking

I'm glad I'm alive.

Ruth's Cafe

Ruth's Cafe

The days were cold and gray

And weighted with mud

We flew to the little town

Washed at the station

And went to Ruth's

We opened the door

And sat at a booth

Under their gaze

My hair wild like the wind

Ruth was always in back

But Colline

She always played a song

And came to let us look at her

Take our orders

And sit under our gaze

Colline

Like a fire in winter

Warmed our day

Wood

 

Wood

Wood

And the bugs climb

The blue scaled thing

Looks at me and I’m

Afraid to sing

At night the wall

Makes a funny sound

And that’s not all

The monster’s not around

To whisper fire

And paw your hand

To make you higher

Like a happy man

Wood, wood,

Remember that cold day

The fence kept me out, you in

And the sky was gray

But I didn’t think of sin

The blue scaled thing

Looked twice at me

Did anyone sing

As a wall grew quickly

Leaves were blowing then

Wonder if many eyes

Counted me among men

As the blue scaled monster flies

Wood, wood, wood

Would you like

Would you even chance

You don’t have to fight

You don’t have to dance

The blue scaled monster

Has a heart of gold

But recedes even further

As it grows old

The fiery eyes stare

From the blue scaled thing

Do you think it’ll care

If I sing?

Sandscape

Sandscape

I

Vast plains of sand,

Stretching to my right, to my left,

In front of and behind me.

I know not east, west, south, or north.

II

White sand,

Glittering and made of black

Brown, and gray grains.

Dull, but bright,

Soft textured under foot,

And at the same time hard.

III

Great nothings of sand

Broken by puddles of water;

Some dark, dank, stagnant;

Some clear and inviting,

Mirrors in the sun

Beckoning the thirsty with pleasure,

But too shallow to be scooped and drank,

Little more than drops of dew.

IV

Great distances of sand,

Unmeasured and free.

Feet moving but still

The sandscape fails to change

And offer help, relief, a sanctuary.

Had I sat, I would still be

Where I am -

Nowhere.

But trails of footprints shooting out behind me

Are a monument to my wasted energy.

So I sit

And close my eyes to hide them from

The scenery of nothingness.

Fire

Fire 

A wall

with a picture

and a mind with a thought.

The earth turns,

its marbled self,

a crust of clouds

and a people baking

and stewing.

A black child

warm brown in the sun

turns his ivory eyes

to see his belly.

A white man in a white shirt

on a white porch

thinks of his son

at war

killing people.

And the black child

falls in the heat.

An elephant

downed in one shot

lies in the bush,

a white hunter over him

and a black man

carrying the rifle.

Triggers pulled by the fingers

of each of two men

in a hole,

one black,

one white.

The heat rising

as the battle rages,

each shooting a fluid

stream of bullets,

searing hot

into the bodies

of others.

The man on the porch

goes into his house.