a nervous frog I hadn’t noticed at my feet

decides this dawdling critter

may be as clumsy as he is lost

and so for dear life leaps–

a flat-out half-yard sprawling flop

that stuns him a floating moment

before he jackknifes, ass in air, and dives,

digs down till his belly scrapes bottom,

then kicks away rhythmically through the clear shallows,

puffs of stirred-up silt, evenly spaced, billowing

in his wake.

And watching those milky silica clouds

bloom and disperse,

swirl and settle,

a force summoned by the footloose glory of the day,

something wild within me,

something I like to think of as poetry

presses for release,

and I say aloud to hear it myself,

“So this is what my life has come to:

a fierce sweetness in the river light;

delirious fusion of petal and flesh,

plunge and glide.”

Thus lost in exaltation, mindlessly

I step on an algae-slimed rock,

hang in baffled contemplation

of my sky-framed sneakers dripping on my face,

then smack ass

into the cold, marrow-shriveling water.

“Yarrrrrggggggggaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!”

Yes. Yes by everything holy, yes!

Even better.

Getting After It

All the planters on our crew

Packed double tree-bags.

Piss-Fir Willie harnessed three,

And stuffed another 20 bare-root stock

In a day-pack with his lunch.

When Timothy ragged him one morning–

“Geez, Willie, you could probably get

Another six down each pants leg

And a dozen between your teeth”–

Willie turned to him and said,

Loud enough for us all to hear,

“I’ll tell you what my daddy told me:

Son, if you’re gonna be a bear,

Be a grizzly.”

How to Catch the Biggest Fish

Pouring December rain, the crummy’s windows

all steamed up,

Our tree-planting crew was talking salmon fishing

during lunch

When Piss-Fir Willie matter-of-factly announced,

“Due to my natural modesty I didn’t mention it

to you boys,

But I caught me a 30-pound chinook on

Thanksgiving morn–

Hit a big silver spinner in the Ten-Ten Hole.”

J-Root Johnny immediately hooted, “Hey, dude,

Throw that fucking minnow back!

I nailed one in the gorge last week

That went 38–” But before we could ask him on what

(A pitchfork was rumored his favorite lure)

Pete Tucker honked, “Put it in Glad Bag, Johnny,

And set it out on the curb. I landed one

From that little pool behind the Ulrick Ranch

That weighed-out a hair over 42

On the Hiouchi Hamlet scales.”

At which Willie threw up his hands and wailed,

“Shitfire! On this damn crew

The first liar don’t have a chance.”

Hard Work

Boys, I’ve listened to your horseshit enough.

You want to know what hard work is, listen up:

I’ve rode a misery whip; carried hod;

Pulled green-chain; broke big rocks into little rocks;

Whupped a hundred miles of picket fence;

Set choker in country so rough

You were doing good if you could crawl downhill.

I’ve fought wildfire; lugged sandbags against floods;

Bucked hay till I was tripping on my tongue;