In the Mill Yard

(February 1975)

The rocky road.
Brown with oil,
Caused by the trucks.
Passing trucks,
Rolling onward.

Into the yards.
All flat;
The logs stacked up
On the cold deck.
Waiting to be barked.

The fork loader comes.
Menacing jaws
And fanged teeth.
Looking very hungry
The logs are its food.

It attacks.
Biting the first log.
Then the next.
The last one.
A full stomach.

It leaves’ Truck now barren.
The load is gone.
Put up the trailer;
Time to go home.

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