By Wayne Jackson 1950-1989
The sun was well up now and what clouds that were, left grey tufts of themselves, lay east, sharply delineated wisps, grey solitary clumps of them maybe fifteen miles away. It was good flatland between here and there. The sun was warm but low.It warmed all those slivers of clothes I wore because I am so cold natured. On the other hand it takes a hot july sun to make me break a sweat. Things even up.....sorta. and I knew I would be able to get even with all those bastards who wander around the job in November wearing a tshirt. I would get even with all those people who stood comfortably in that bleak wintry scene, who looked on scornfully while, every muscle in me, was fighting the cold while while two sides of myself argued over control. Self on saying "Listen Jack, it's only Tuesday"
Copyright © 1997 by Donald Wayne Jackson, All rights reserved