Jim, not Jack,
climbs hydro poles
not beanstalks, and
looks for PCBS,
not magic beans.

Thirty-seven, he’s always preferred
to work in the realm of the open sky
firefighting, forestry and roofing
making up his earlier jobs.

His ascent in the courses for
his lineman career
almost complete after four years
(in plenty of time,
as he’s only thirty-seven)
he’s on a seven months contract in Ottawa,
until February, and put up at a motel
across from the country dance hall,
on the third level, fittingly,
with an outdoor balcony for smoking.

Born and raised in Tweed,
half-way to Toronto
(back home his family build canoes,
he fondly boasts)
but Belleville, Trenton actually,
near the air force base,
serves as his home territory now.

Jim’s somewhat of a giant himself
in height, strapping and strong
in physique, dark-haired and mustached,
with mischievous brown eyes, and appears
early Tom Selleck, minus the dimples.

With no problem verbalizing, he’s open
and down-home, a smiler and a kidder
a prompt door-opener for the ladies,
to the surprise of some,
no longer used to the service.

His mind’s as sharp as the piton
he might need on his posts,
and though he assures us
he’s a tree-hugger and kisser,
his duties at times require him
to mark their doom
with a felling.

But his role is heroic
detecting and cleaning up
cancer-agents.

Over a round of beer
(his treat) he tells us
he’s so happy tonight,
as during his stay here
he’s often alone in his leisure time,
his current work buddy and roommate
sleeps all evening,
while Jim likes to frequent
Thirsty Thursday nights at this Lone Star Cafe
across from their booked room.
In the next while, a different buddy
will be his roommate,
one who likes to party too.

This Thursday we’ve made it the best one,
he proclaims to our party, due to
our warm hospitality, our sharing
of conversation, and our one single gal
or all of us together, in a circle,
welcoming him to put his steps
to the test for a few dances,
on much lower ground than he’s used to,
to the fine young group’s offerings
from Blue Rodeo and Clearwater
to a Beatles, or even
their own uniquely crafted sounds.

Other evenings he’s found quiet
no-one else mingling with him,
though he praises Ottawa,
no complaints, he volunteers,
still he’s glad he’s found us,
even if just for once.

Too soon it’s last call, and Jim admits
that by five in the morning
he’ll be heading out for the climbs,
so we say goodnight to
the lineman up in Ottawa,
we've met for the first but surely,
not last, thirsty for
some company time.

09/03/2006

Posted on 09/03/2006
Copyright © 2025 Maureen Glaude