Survey Crew
Shock was not
canvas tents strung along
the shore of Lake Superior rather than sleazy
shag-carpeted motel rooms south of Marathon
no.
Shock was not flying clear dome bell chopper
black fly and bear territory
land-on-a-dime river side
in the middle of the God-forsaken-wilderness
or God’s country depending on how you look at it
no.
Shock was not watching Roy walk pissed off
straight into the bush for a three hour no map
bush-whack straight back to camp
to roll cigarettes
and hork into a smoldering fire
no.
Not night sky infinity
white pin pricks bleeding out heaven
not sound absence
adrenaline blood rush pregnant voids
not off res boys
hard luck blind drunk fireside fights
no.
The shock was
axe cut clean through boot and bone
Dan felled like a lodgepole,
and you pinned
to the forest floor.
Published in The Antigonish Review, Issue #177, Spring 2014
