At the Broken Yoke on Illinois 20, just west of Elizabeth,
Grizzled farmer types, bib overalls, Carhart jackets,
Sat at the bar finishing seven am coffee and breakfast.
The ring-a-ling over the door, faded with the slam.
“How’s it goin, Bob?”
“How’s it goin, Bob?”
“Fair to middlin” he tells the late forties, youngster.
“Hey. What you think about that fire hose stuff?
Duluth, I think.
How’s it wear?”
“No good. Knees go too fast.”
I’m always getting on my knees
For this and for that.
I’m hard on the knees.”
“Hard using them for a soft sledge, too,
Nudging things a bit.”
“I heard that.”
“How you doin, Roy?”
“Oh, partly cloudy.”
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