Things become more stark near the Blink. I don’t know how to explain it. The constant presence of the Blink lends these places a certain contrast. Even as things slip through in both directions – aspects removed and added – somehow or other the places themselves remain the same, and all these changes turn out to better highlight the underlying reality there.
The poem wasn’t here originally. I can say that for certain.
Alongside the Head Frame, the building above-ground here at the mine, there is a second building that seems to have been added as something of an afterthought. The main part, the Head Frame, has all the machinery and structure to operate the lift, as well as the lift itself, and the old double-wide door that leads down the slant into the hill and the upper level of the mine. The Head Frame is tall, and open, the great cables that hold the lift winding through massive wheels high above the ground. in contrast, the addition is narrow and cramped. Two stories, each no more than 20 feet by 10 feet, the steep stairs in the corner not far removed from being a ladder. Two small desks separate the stairs from the rest of the room, one of them facing out like a roadblock. The rest of the room seems to have once been a small break area, though only the hard wood table and chairs remain. They don’t take up all room, and the empty connectors coming out of the discolored wall are all that remain of whatever sink and counter were once there.
The second desk, the smaller one in the corner near the stairs, has an assortment of office materials scattered on and about it. Little of it has survived the years of abandonment, and none of it of any particular interest. That is, until today. Today, the desk had a poem on the wall next to it. Printed on a simple 8-1/2 x 11 page of printer paper, and taped to the wall with packing tape, completely covering it. Only the corners of it are exposed, so it has aged remarkably well – other than the yellowing of the tape.
Presented without further comment, here is the text of the poem:
Ode to Derrick There is a man named Derrick And they say he's very smart But they don't know him like I do They've never heard him fart They know he programs Python They know he does it well But I know something they don't know and that is how he smells They call the man "Bamboozle" For all his fighting skills But just ask me, I'll tell you Its his gas that really kills Friends like him are rare indeed He cheers me up with ease Just so long as I make sure to bring along Febreeze I loved those times we'd chat at work or hang out after class so much so I'd never mind him always passing gas Yes, He truly is amazing That friend of yours and mine When I smell hot, ripened cheese I toast his name with wine But enough with all the jokes Enough delays from me Its time I pinch my nose and let you know: I love you Derrick C.