It’s 10:10 in Edmonton a Tuesday
Nine days into the last month of summer, yes
It’s 1988 and I dip my mop
In the drum of coal tar so Buck
(real name Bill)
doesn’t toss me off here
onto the Acron Roofing & Consulting sign
even though I’m so hungover
one too many Caesars at
Barry Tee’s for Kev’s birthday
that I couldn’t care less if Buck did it
I slap the mop on the roof and spread
globs of black tar around,
it’s August and I’m here
until sundown
or this job gets done
or I get chucked off the roof by Buck
whichever’s later.
I’m listening to 630CHED on Buck’s beat up boombox
thirty-eight degrees outside but feels like ninety up in here
and I’m burnt hearing Stauffer say
“Oilers trade the Great One to the LA Kings
for Jimmy Carson, Martin Gelinas fifteen mill
and three first round picks
in eighty-nine ninety-one and ninety-three”
my sweat’s mixing with the tar fumes
dehydrated and dizzy
feeling worse than I was before
I lean my mop on the drum of tar
walk over to the edge and sit
let my feet dangle off the roof
the crowd is roaring
“FIFTY IN THIRTY-NINE FIFTY IN THIRTY-NINE”
I’m cheering next to Pat and Kev at the RAT
“HE SHOOTS HE SCORES”
four cups in four years and more and more
beers all gone Lord Stanley
now that the Great One’s gone
by Griffin Wilson
