Links

LOGGER

My fence now weathered-gray

from cedars that once

stood strong in western forests

was cut by a logger

who came home that day,

took a beer and smelling

of sweat, cedar sap and machine oil,

rested his head on the back

of his tattered easy chair, trying

to get the chain saw’s roar

out of his ears, then closed

his eyes, trying to forget

the forest before he cut it.