Stuck Outside of Prescott with the Covid Blues Again

Today, summer; sticky hot.  Stepping from the ship’s ladder onto dry land and his first foot fall in over a month is onto ground soft with rain and goose shit.  The grass is pillowy thick and were it not for the aforementioned doo-doo he would drop face first and spread-eagled into it, as to have something other than steel beneath his feet feels like a mitzvah, and one that should be acknowledged with a grand gesture.

Lately, I have felt overwhelmed by information…

Above him the grain elevator looms impressively.  From a distance it looked derelict and being up close has not altered this impression.  They are unloading corn from Toledo, Ohio.  It is a long unload that creates a fine dust that coats every surface like blown snow.  He has disembarked to go and run on the pier-parking lot on the otherside of the slip.  For weeks Covid has kept them confined to the vessel but the area is fenced off and he has been given dispensation to go and stretch his legs.

too much information

He has been working on a few fictions and some fact-shuns but each time he sits down to write, his words retreat like a thunder-spooked dog beneath the bed and no amount of coaxing will get them out.

And he too is nervous, as if he were also spooked by a calamitous sound.

bludgeoned by information…

He has grown increasingly frustrated by his newsfeed.  His sincere wish is to get through his whole life without causing a scene.  Yet everywhere it seems scenes are being caused.

addled by information…

He hopes a run will shake things up. It is mid-afternoon, and the tarmac kicks out hot air.  The pier stretches half a kilometer out into the St. Lawrence River.  The end of the pier and the swift moving water and horizon all hum in the sultry high heat of the day.   There is a strong wind from the north which makes half the run easy and the other half hard.  He belts out songs from his playlist and tries to push himself.  All he has wanted to do lately is run and run but he is out of shape and has a broken big toe and the going is difficult in theheat.

choked by information…

He has just three more cargoes before he goes home,

Sandusky to the Soo – coal

Goderich to Toledo – grain

Conneaut to Quebec – iron ore.

It will be his third leave since this epoch descended.

unsettled by information…

He steps over the cannibalized remains of a seagull.  They really are the assholes of the avian world.  Elvis Costello is singing ‘Radio, Radio’ and he turns the volume up higher and runs a little faster.

As if he could outrun the pernicious remora that has attached itself to this time.  Or drown out the distant rumble of thunder.

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