Pump Jacks

The field was probably a flank of wheat
or flax until the replication of pump jacks
began. In eerie formations,

they infinitely regress into the folds
of prairie, black and red mosquitoes,
practicing their mechanized manoeuvres.

In the momentary hesitation of the cog
before the jack’s proboscis dips down,
and again down, into the earth,

you imagine the blurred wringing of hands,
the drool of oil from the effortless labour.
Moveable, insatiable, endless.

~ Ian LeTourneau

Ian LeTourneau is a transplanted Maritimer. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and journals across the country, as well as CBC’s Alberta Anthology. Gaspereau Press published a chapbook of his poems, Defining Range, in 2006. He lives in Athabasca with his wife, son and cat.

One Response to “Pump Jacks”

  1. [...] poems went up on blue skies, an online literary magazine, today: “Noticed” and “Pump Jacks.” These poems will appear in a special Writing the Land anthology at the end of the month, to [...]

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