My dear, the time has come
Once more for me to depart,
But like all the times before,
I shall return with bounties
The likes of which no man
Or woman on this river
Has ever witnessed
In fevered dreams
While swatting mosquitoes
In the stifling night.
My dear, what is mine
Shall soon be ours
As I push forth to distant
Centers of trade and skill,
Showing them what I do
Best…
What?
What is that you say?
I am to provide, and I cannot
See why you would wonder
About my fealty
When providing is
The divine will which
Placed me here and now.
My dear, tear not down the
Levees so close to the bridge,
For our wildest delights
In corporeal rapture
Will make this land,
This river-side shanty,
A sprawling plantation
For those who will come
After us because we must
Make this better than
The siren song of red heroes.
My dear, the forecasts have all
Pointed in this direction for
All great poets have asked
“What is this ‘mine’ that
All men are convinced is theirs?”
I have found this mine
And must dawn my cap
To head towards the city,
But only for a brief wink
That will soothe the blood
In the unblinking eye of time.
Composed 08/06/2012
Author’s Note: My host father was a heavy machine operator, but everyone just called him a driver. He would go away at certain times during the year to do jobs driving heavy trucks and machinery. He showed me some pictures of work he had done in Mongolia and China. I always wondered what living that kind of life would be like.
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