David Salner

After the Shutdown at Eveleth Mines

The shower-water froze in his hair

as he stepped from the bath house into the night air

and took the path by the river’s edge,

threaded his way through darkness lit only

by moonglow on riffles

as the river broke over cold stones.

The song of the current hung like a mist on the water

until he saw it, a barrel of fire lighting the clearing,

licking the aspen boughs and the veined underside of the leaves.

Tunes from a boombox, then voices,

and faces came into focus, tinged by the fire,

the cadence of daybreak and night—

then he was with them, with their hugs and high fives,

the whole crew in that ring of light.

Ronnie pumped up the keg with a whoosh

and Michele and Maki were there, riding each other

about something they did or didn’t do like the best friends they were,

dancing, all of them, cheering, making the best of it—

because they’d survived their shifts by the crushers and mills,

by the rotating kilns, and all the crushed silica

their lungs had sucked up. They’d survived

to arrive in this circle of light,

fire painting their lives with a flickering sheen,

boughs and leaves swirling around them.

After four or five beers, he scrambled away, up over the bank,

mud and scree from his boots slipping into the current

and he was back in the lot. The thud of the car door

tolled in his ears, as he took Rt 53,

rolled down the window,

breathed the chill of the morning.

 

Jerome’s Dream

Last night he had a dream about trust.

He was naked, this time at a party for sharks.

They were well-dressed in their shark-skin pullovers,

cruising the room, greeting each other

with a convivial dorsal and receiving him well.

In fact, he was sought after. One of the sharks

took him aside and, in a fatherly voice, advised

that the shark he’d just been joking with

was not to be trusted. Jerome thanked him

and there was immediately at his side another shark

who gave him a warning "in confidence"

that the previous shark was “a friendly guy, a good wit,

but not to be trusted, even a little bit.”

He winked knowingly, and after a few more drinks

and more counsel from well-wishing sharks,

Jerome swam to the center of the room, aware

of the honor. He was the only guest at the party

trusted by each and every shark.

 

Road Sign

You will ignore

what I say since

you won’t take your

eyes off your phone

and learn from the

past but this road

will lead only

to a rail crossing

in Poland—just

look for the sign

when you drive

west from Krakow.

 

Meditation before Sleep

Try to relax. Take a pill and drift off.

Listen to the sounds of traffic in rain.

Slick-slick as the tires go ‘round.

Don’t look at the wall where the lights

pulsate red and blue, red and blue.

Pain for the many, fun for the few.

Forget the news, the blur of disasters.

Which day? Yesterday? Don’t worry.

We’ll have new ones tomorrow.

Breathe in, breathe out. Relax on a mat.

Full-lotus is best but half- will do.

Count your blessings. Know that

in all the great hospitals of the world

they’re unloading five or six feet of pain,

sponging off gurneys to get them clean.

 

Golf-Course Perfect

There they are in the summer heat

in blaze-orange jump suits

at work on the highway.

They run mowers and slowly scythe

down steep banks of the shoulder

careful to avoid large stones, edging up

guard rails of galvanized steel.

They pause to rag-away sweat and drink from a ladle.

You can almost feel how their muscles relax

when they lie on the grass at break time.

Great day in the morning!

Then they sweep cuttings off gravel,

bag trash in black bags, toss them into the flat-bed.

They load mowers, weedwhackers, gas cans,

and rig them just right for the ride.

The guard looks on through looking-glass wrap-arounds

as they take their seats on the Inmate Van

and leave this section of I-70

a golf-course perfect spot of freedom.