off the job (10)

Nights in Oildale stink like crude.

Maybe things just smell more in the dark.

Back in the office hut,

the wheezing swamp cooler

drips into a pie plate on the floor.

Charlie sits with his fifty dollar boots

crossed at the ankles on his desk.

He’s on the phone with the head office.

…….a full report by ten. no.

I understand. yes sir.

Henry says, til ten?

I gotta leave by ten.

You gotta? you stay til

I say you gotta, comprende?

Yeah, comprendo. and Charlie?

I’m Armenian, not Mexican.

Of course you are. You know what?

You can go, right now. Head office

heard about your situation.

Suggested you take a few days off

to sort out your priorities.

I wasn’t so sure about that,

but you know what?

Clear out now.

I’ll call you when and if

I need you to come in.

He’s not due at Cottonwood  til 10:45,

so he drives up China Grade Loop

to the top of the hill,

and looks down out the hundreds

of relentless horsehead pumpjacks

rocking slowly in the yellow pink light

of the mercury vapor lamps

replacing the last of the sunset.

Radio KUZZ is spinning some songs

in between the news bulletins.

Rose Maddox suggests

what she’ll do

in the right kind of car:

Take me in your Cadillac

and we’ll go honkytonkin’

We’ll park it by the roadside

somewhere beneath the moon.

Take me in your Cadillac

and we’ll go honkytonkin’

We’ll park it by the roadside

and I’ll make sweet love to you.