Rockford makes Poppy reenact scenes from “Star Wars” when I’m at work. That she plays along is evidence of her love for her daddy.
My dear husband also declared himself a “breakfast genius” this morning because he combined Perfect Balance and chocolate Malt-O-Meal. I think he needs to get out more often.
For several months now, one of the top three destinations on our little Web site has consistently been a paper I wrote in October 2000 for an English class. I pity the fool who’s using that thing as a reference. I can barely get through the first sentence:
In the Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale, fourteenth century author Geoffrey Chaucer refutes the popular misogynistic perspective propagated by the religious authorities of his time.
It goes on to say blah-da-di-blah-blah-blah. Huzzah!
American Life in Poetry: Column 036
By TED KOOSER
U.S. poet laureate
In this poem by western New Yorker Judith Slater, we’re delivered to a location infamous for brewing American stories: a bar. Like the stories of John Henry, Paul Bunyan or the crane operator in this poem, tales of work can be extraordinary, heroic and, if they are sad, sometimes leavened by a little light.
In The Black Rock Tavern
The large man in the Budweiser tee
with serpents twining on his arms
has leukemia. It doesn’t seem right
but they’ve told him he won’t die for years
if he sticks with the treatment.
He’s talking about his years in the foundry,
running a crane on an overhead track in the mill.
Eight hours a day moving ingots into rollers.
Sometimes without a break
because of the bother of getting down.
Never had an accident.
Never hurt anyone. He had that much control.
His problem is that electricity
raced through his body and accumulated.
When he got down at the end of a shift
he could squeeze a forty-watt light bulb
between thumb and finger and make it flare.
All the guys came around to see that.
Judith Slater is a clinical psychologist, and her poem first appeared in “Prairie Schooner,” Vol 78, No. 3, Fall 2004 by permission of the University of Nebraska Press with the permission of the author. Poem copyright (c) 2004 by The University of Nebraska Press.
This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.