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Out of Work.

 This is what tree
 felling smells like. But it's been six months now: no dirty chain
oil, no sawdust, no lodgepole pine, black spruce. No more four a.m. No
sucking back cigarettes over coffee in the yard, clambering up old
mountain roads, or sneaking one in, two thousand feet. Warming the
hands, the throat. The foreman's always said you're too
late if you can see where you're driving. No more sunrise. No
more broken chains. At least not for now. Only some kid in the lineup, a
bag of groceries, smears of bicycle chain grease across his pant leg.

MICHAEL MEAGHER is a British Columbia-based landscaper and roofer whose poetry hasappeared in journals such as PRISM International, the Antigonish Review, FreeFall, the Prairie Journal, Misunderstandings Magazine, and Qwerty. He recently took a year off to complete an English degree at SaintMary's University.

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Author:Meagher, Michael (Canadian poet)
Publication:Queen's Quarterly
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2014
Words:195
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