Marthe Reed

oilfield dreams: roy champagne

why don’t you come
rough-necked
pushin’ tools
drilling rigs oddly anywhere

intimate and far
flung that deep slow
going all the time
a decent life

specific bodies in
specific places
a bar and a grocery store
Cut Off

and my brother
all south
marsh then bays
nice big rigs

further out
back back of
Napolean Bay
Ponchartrain Southeast

Pass
mud drillpipe
between them rigs
casing

never slowed down
a rope
a jack-up a steady
risks lie across

a yellow sheet
that
grandfather clause
water fuel mud

check
a transparent reality
three thousand
sacks those connections

class-A
cement
the world drowned
you all feel all feel

ten foot seas
to kill that
white yellow and red
systemic and irreversible

mud
comes yellow
too late
neither culpability nor

solutions
a breakdown
a blow-out same thing
you’re gone

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