Marthe Reed

oilfield dreams: roy champagne

why don’t you come
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

mud drillpipe
between them rigs

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

a yellow sheet
grandfather clause
water fuel mud

a transparent reality
three thousand
sacks those connections

the world drowned
you all feel all feel

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

comes yellow
too late
neither culpability nor

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

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