"Manual" from Gulf Stream Three Poems from drafthorse

You say go when I want to slow down. Punch in, punch out, someone punched in the face. Spiders thrive at the power plant despite sub-zero wind chills: 70 degrees inside with 60% humidity. Northwest Ohio is not coal country but the conveyer belt moves the old dirt from one building to another. Watch your sleeves; the ripcord is for emergencies only, not for the damp floor you're sliding down. The ripcord stops the belt from moving spiders with babies on their backs. I'm wearing all my personal protective equipment. What I mean is: I love my wife who loves my lungs, I love my health insurance and my pre-existing conditions. The sign at the entrance counts the number of days without a work stop injury; the number was larger last month. Down the street, fast food workers are on strike. The plant is Union proud, twenty three days since the last work stop injury, work doesn't slow down. I'm surrounded by web-covered tubes I cannot follow, aluminum worms filled with asbestos. Red and white and blue all over. When you say hello, you mean, where are you going, or do you need an escort, or where's your hard hat. I have two tools: a hand tank with pyrethrin pesticides and a six foot stick to knock down webs. Real men love coal and Budweiser and never cry but it's okay to avoid lights covered by webs, it's acceptable even to scream when spiders drop on me. This makes you human, this. When I say I'm a socialist, I mean The Bill of Rights doesn't go far enough, I mean I capitalize Union but not god, I mean money matters more than ever. Eight inch thick screws snap under the pressure. Don't be fooled, my arms are thin but they're all muscle. I've only been in two fist fights and both times I took a punch in the face. Spiders bite my face even though it's 5 degrees outside; I'm inside and I'm sweating. Where's your hard hat and earplugs? You say go when I just want to look around. A spider is more closely related to a crab than an ant. I read that like I read the bathroom graffiti about Bob's mom. Last night, I located twenty seven distinct voices in Leaves of Grass before I lost count. What I mean is: I love god and country and my job so I better shut up. Where in America isn't coal country? I'm fluent in as many Americas as you've got. You say, go, so I say, lead the way.