HAPPY GUYS           

The happiest guys of the morning
ride a spreader, that monster machine,
ultimate boys' toy, legitimate work model.
                       
Looking like a string of Christmas lights
draped around the rig, they wear Cal Trans vests
of day-glo orange, fluorescent green.

The driver, in his 40s, hunches over the wheel,
takes up most of the narrow country road,
almost sideswipes the struts of the bridge.

Beside him a young man whose red hair
curls up around his hard hat
clutches a bar to hang on.

Ranged across the back of the behemoth
the other four--flannel sleeves sticking out
of down vests spotted with grease.

What must be the crew chief, relishing his ride, lounges
on a platform slightly higher, cigarette drooping
from the languid hand he lifts to passers-by.

Traffic stops in all directions
as the outfit lumbers past, gracious smiles
(with a touch of smugness) are bestowed on the cars.

The six men enjoy the early day freshness, the scent
of hay smothered in hot tar fumes, on their way
to pave another block of lost pasture.

Published in Edgz, Winter/Spring 2003


SCENT OF RAIN   

After a summer so hot it singed sparrow wings
and a fire season blazing brighter than fall-turned leaves,
we welcome the splat of raindrops on our upturned faces.

By morning the ground is soaked.

Lifting from fields and roadsides, around homes
filled with dogs and cats, above dark alleys and back doorsteps
in the center of town, the smell of urine, rehydrated,

after the first hard rain.

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