Volcano dress
(This can't all be interesting.)
This is what I thought rolling the auger into place.
(I can't always be engaged.)
Drilling four-inch holes in asphalt for bollard barriers
in the parking lot of another shitty apartment complex.
(But watch your ass. That drill kicks like a motherfucker.)
The guy shuffling behind me a few yards and setting the posts rolls his eyes and makes circles with his hand and says, "Let's go, man."
(Fuck that guy.)
I can't hear him over the noise of the machine but I hear him in my head.
He's the big swinging dick on this job, the son-in-law of the Magnum Boring foreman.
(I am nobody's son-in-law.)
While the son-in-law's words are still ringing in my head and I'm trying to think of the right smartass response, the bit hangs and the machine bucks.
(Sonuvabitch.)
I kill the auger. There's a shit-ton of heat coming from the asphalt. And the bit is glowing, even in the August sun.
(His daughter stood on a paving stone near the garden. He was next to her standing on another stone, his hand on her head. Balanced. "Here comes the lava!" They played this game every time he visited. The lava rushed in and the lava rushed out. And they ran around the yard; around the volcano. He wasn't allowed in the house. "Look at my dress, Daddy! It's a volcano dress. Put on your volcano dress too!")
I slam the drill into reverse, trying to free the bit and it breaks. The steel hanging from what's left of the auger arm drips onto the asphalt. Then there's light spidering out from around the hole.
So bright.
So hot.