On cold mornings, before school,
And before the mill started,
I could earn two dollars
By shoveling down the top
Of the sawdust pile
As steam rose around me.
A drag chain brought bits of wood
From under the circular saw
That cut railroad ties,
Two by fours and tobacco sticks.
Twenty feet high, the view
An eagle's,  I had not read
Of Sisyphus, though when I did
It came with understanding gained
From those mornings,
The smell of fresh cut oak
And the need to rearrange that dust,
So it wouldn't throw the chain
Off its sprocket.