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
midnight-broken deer splayed
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.
Interested in submitting poetry to The Good Men Project? Check out our guidelines.
Like The Good Men Project on Facebook
Photo by Mraz Center for the Performing Arts /Flickr