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Orange, sometimes lime,
Always with white strips,
The vests that might
Thwart danger, death ….
I found one in the street,
Some oil stains, a buckle torn.
I lifted it ( I knew I saw it fall from
A highway truck) tossed carelessly
In the back, now blown off.
No AC in the cab, the driver
And two next to him,
One whose vest had blown away.
All smoking, all wanting the day’s
End beer stop, the hard stares
Into the counter girl’s face.
She’s seen them all summer,
Shirts stained, faces and arms greased black,
Stubble around sun-pinched eyes and mouths ….
I put the vest on.
Smell the oil, grease.
I touch the oil, grease.
I am on a road,
I am in a ditch ….
I’m looking into her eyes,
Mumbling for beer,
Lighting my Camel,
Drawing deep ….
