There is a light fog & a fire
burning in a barrel, shadows & half-light,
fence posts & shed wall
seem silver gray, waiting dogs,
knowing patience, walk the edge
or lie near. The sun is slow
in rising, a cold dawn
in Mississippi,
it takes one.
hang the freezer paper from the pole, tear as we cut
& roll…
Warm & solid
is the heavy wooden table,
steaming from the hot water wash.
Clean & believable in high rubber boots
& old clothes & coats are the men
that drink coffee & smoke & give soft testimony,
a muttered language of work,
& urine,
of pulleys hung from rafters & hooks
attached to ropes, ready a hose,
knives must be sharpened.
