Worlds collide when a blue collar guy winds up in the mystical land of Oz in this poem from Sarah Ann Winn.
Tow Truck Driver in Oz
When I moved here, first mailbox
after the yellow brick pothole,
they called me right away to unditch
and I would, witch or not, tow, tow.
Many crashes are easily mended,
move aside so others can move along,
whisk to safety at midnight. Someone calls
crying with a flat the date their dad died,
and I’m still the driver.
I clear the way, help move the house,
lift boxes, re-brick the road.
I cone off the scene, orient
the traveler. Miss home where I counted
across hoods. I pray. I sing with Dylan
when a hard rain starts to fall.
The night I first kissed ruby lips,
I asked her where to turn,
she guided me. Sometimes
I call her, just to get roadside
assistance, say, Honey, won’t you
make it snow when I feel
like sleeping. Make it storm
when the dust billows in.
Read more of Sarah Ann Winn’s poetry, including more Oz poems.
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Photo by Mraz Center for the Performing Arts /Flickr