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Mining Poetry by Joel Tankersley
Dear Mike
Dear Mike,
I got the application
and man it hit the fan,
My wife, she really blew up, I dodged a glass, a plate and pan.
She cussed and screemed and raved,
She said, "you’re a no good mine camp tramp."
I'm sick of all your doing, son.
You should have heard her rant.
'Pard things got ugly,
and you cannot comprehend.
She said that she if she has to move again,
this will be our the end.
I don't understand it myself,
only her I do adore.
It hurts to see my baby,
stomping around the floor.
She was plenty hot and said
look outside it's snowing.
Your too old!, forget it!
Buddy, I'm not going.
I told her that I loved her,
said I need a change of pace.
I looked for understanding
and there was anger in her face.
I've always took good care of her,
she's got a brand new car.
Money in the bank,
we've done OK so far.
She's got all that she's wanted,
but there's something lacking in my life.
She won't stop and listen,
my precious loving wife.
I cannot explain it,
the feel of a brand new dig.
The smell of the muck and the powder smoke,
to wallow like a pig.
New ground to be broken,
in a distant foreign land.
The rock, it calls and beckons,
she doesn't understand.
So keep it quiet for now my friend,
keep in touch and stay low.
I'll be up to see you,
before the melting of the snow.
Copyright Joel Tankersley
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