The Infirmary

Industry, Iowa

7 i n D U s t r y, i o Wa roll your windows up. When the old fort road bends south to pick up Vincent, take the dust west until the wires quit. Look for a break in the corn. That’s industry. Wear something worn. tar never stole gravel from these chickens. for a dime in ’17 a pig or boy could ride the northern to fort Dodge. Bad times don’t stretch pork or steel much. now it’s weather and sundays come here. Wind’s the oldest citizen, the elevator raises pigeons, the only store ran out on you. two houses left, rough cut. The horse that dragged the lumber up from kelley’s creek? stitching on some city shoe. nine born in one of those rooms. Woman came out to sweep the porch, half the town was gone. two graves around back, pines for stones. it’s seven miles to Vincent, take your guess about the graves along the way. you’ll get an honest look, three fingers of whiskey, overalls if the sky’s thinking, if that decision’s wet. sleeping or drinking’s better with a rain than with a woman. take in what you like. Don’t buy a stranger a drink if your vowels aren’t right, and don’t bring up industry. here men do their drinking, their living, straight ahead. They don’t look sideways like you. (for Ruth Ann Flattery) ...