I was called to a construction site to restart a diesel bulldozer engine that had been run out of fuel. This is a process which requires bleeding air from the fuel system and can be a lengthy and expensive job if access to the injectors requires the removal of much tinware. The crew was already in a boisterous mood, having been giving the dozer operator a good-natured ribbing for letting his machine run dry.

Now, these are the type of guys that you are not likely to find reading Kierkegaard on their lunch break. I manufacture my grease rags from old clothing. When I'm around this bunch I'm very careful not to use rags with a floral or duckie print. But they had seen my website and had read my poem "Lonely Lights" . . .

"Nice leetle po-em you wrote," said the foreman. (laughter) Their lunch break was one hour long and I joined them. I explained that "Lonely Lights" was inspired by an ample supply of red wine and Miles Davis playing on my shop radio late one winter night. A later broadcast demonstrated that many listeners, for some reason, had also been inspired to write poetry that night. They actually broadcast some of the poems. They ranged from flowery feminine prose to hard-hitting angry black inner-city pieces that used the N-word a lot.

The period of eating and conversation was coming to an end and as forty minutes of the lunch break remained, a few of the men reclined against tree trunks, pulled their Cat Diesel and Levi Garrett hats over their eyes and went to sleep. A few others pulled out their favorite reading material.

"Why don't you write some adult stuff?" asked a lean leathery traffic flagger from behind his copy of Penthouse.

"How about horror?" asked the thick-spectacled dump truck driver from behind a Stephen King paperback.

Well, you can't please everyone but it can be fun to try. This week we're proud to present a new old-tractor-related story: The Bare Witch Project. (Note: this isn't that kind of a site; the preacher might get a chuckle out of this story too.)