Sunday, January 23, 2011

Things Bound For Nowhere...

I have spent the last week
by the cold wind
that blows through the open steel doors
of diesel blackened loading docks;
piled high
with drums wrapped in taut plastic
and crates held together
by sea rusted nails.

And I cannot
get the soot,
and taste of travel,
off my hands
and tongue.

All these large parcels
bound to oak pallets,
awaiting the lift,
and arrival.

Heavy things
with a purpose.

I would like to place the weight
I carry,
on an oak pallet
and send it off
across the sea,
to a place where it might be cared for and wanted.
I would like to suffocate it
in tight plastic
and impale it
with rusty sea nails,
and send it on it's way.

I would like to watch
as my heavy load
is effortlessly raised
by a propane fueled forklift
and stowed at the very far dark end
of a shipping container,
bound for nowhere
that I will ever be
and have to think about again.

Imagine the surprise
when many miles away
across this silly blue marble,
a well traveled crate
is split open and apart,
by blued steel pry bars
and cheap hammers;
and inside
of an industrial fuel pump,
my broken heart is found
buried in a soft bed of saw dust and regret?

But I am not so fortunate
to free myself
from this load.
I pack up this broken heart
along with the tools of my trade
and prepare to take them home.

But in the temporary lull
between the shift change,
I stand on the loading dock.
I examine my diesel, soot stained hands.
I rub them together
hoping to feel something.
But there is nothing.
The black soot gloves I wear
have insulated me
from the cold wind that blows,
through my broken heart
and the opened
steel doors.

seems to be moving
towards something,
except me.

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