I drive to work at six p.m.
The sun’s already set;
It’s ten below and falling still,
But wind’s the greater threat.
We gather for the pre-shift talk,
Tonight’s assignments given;
The lineup’s done, each name’s been called,
I wait with fellow crewmen.
I’ve paced this hallway thirty years,
The faces old and new;
The coffee smells like mold and bleach
And tastes just like it too.
Tonight I’ll drive a haul truck parked
Out on the ready line;
I walk around the truck to check
If everything works fine.
This truck I drive is made to haul
Six hundred thousand pounds;
From dump to shovel, back and forth
To make my sixty rounds.
I pull under the shovel and
He drops rock in the bed;
One hundred tons, three times each load
This weight over my head.
It’s dark beyond the light plant’s glow,
As black the coal we mine;
My world’s reduced to this dim space,
No warming sun to shine.
The voices on the radio
Are someone’s son or daughter;
Though some are friends and some are not
We look out for each other.
At end of shift I head for home,
A shock to back so sore,
That after driving all night long
I drive one hour more.
I see the sun rise on the way
I’ll be asleep by ten;
And then tonight at six p.m.
I’ll do it all again.