Logging Timber in the Northwest Territories
Word Count: 300 words
In order to keep following the dictates of your sacred
Working souls in chaos order – keeps the money flow
Through credit banks – and it must go ever forward
As settlement camps are history forever unaborted.
The Northwest Territories are new, estranged rawish lands;
I shake – reflect upon what this – aging wisdom demands,
I saw someone go up there with fourteen giant rusty chainsaws,
People who take down trees through inebriation of concentration,
And you know, if I could be up above, that’s exactly what I’d do.
Logging, logging, and eating food in an unearthly paradise of
Green distraction, constantly chanting, Move Forward, and Cut.
As timber falls down, we hear silver wolves howling on the Horizon,
There is a fallen once snowy mountain, and Dear God, there is it,
The mountains with snow aplenty waiting to be climbed and loved,
By overgrown boys who need pay and work and some few girls,
Driving trucks and taking all the work out from the Mexicans
Who need to be driving oh gosh they’re already up there, spewing
Coffee from brown hands and curling around the fingers of time.
I can’t do all forms of work, as no one else ever can, too, and I
Still long for the Life of Reilly – camping above the trees line!
There is no more beautiful scent for an instant than Evergreen,
A smell worth the blades runs of crashing timber faster than I
Keep up with the men, boys and women, and log down dust.
But now I can only craft the ripe fruits of poetry, sap and rust.
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