Billy Manas

The puddle rumble of the yard machine
That I sit in to move trailers to and fro
These trailers have come from near and far
California to Maine and here I sit charged
To direct them for the last fifty yards
Before they are emptied- giant containers
Of commerce and road salt
And I stare longingly into the side view
At a face that I´ve stared into all through life
The tool I thought I traded on for love
And sexuality
But I realize now I was mistaken
It was never this face but this battered
And shattered soul
Which rumbles through the puddles
Like the machine I am contained in
Now. And for the next ten hours