Mentor

I’m so young & dumb, when the shop steward backs me against a locker after shift, says “Don’t wear it out, son, only your second day,” I keep nodding & grinning long after he’s ambled off. It’s a downstate tractor factory. Union wage means a year’s tuition & I’m unskilled labor—wheelbarrow, shovel & broom. Lunch gets taken at a cafeteria around the block. Stuffed cabbage with a High Life is Top’s favorite. Third week in June he bumps my tray, says, “How’s it shakin’, College?” & squeezes a shoulder until I squirm. All summer in dreams I have him clatter down metal steps after clocking out & trip & break his neck. Or crossing the parking lot get creamed by a peel-out car. (Come quitting time everyone’s revved for softball or the bar.) Early September, last hour of my last day, Top comes up & chump-slaps my head, says, “Don’t let me catch you here again.”