After I got religion and steadied downThey gave me a job in the canning works,And every morning I had to fillThe tank in the yard with gasoline,That fed the blow-fires in the shedsTo heat the soldering irons.And I mounted a rickety ladder to do it,Carrying buckets full of the stuff.One morning, as I stood there pouring,The air grew still and seemed to heave,And I shot up as the tank exploded,And down I came with both legs broken,And my eyes burned crisp as a couple of eggs.For someone left a blow—fire going,And something sucked the flame in the tank.The Circuit Judge said whoever did itWas a fellow-servant of mine, and soOld Rhodes’ son didn’t have to pay me.And I sat on the witness stand as blindAs Jack the Fiddler, saying over and over,“I didn’t know him at all.”
Spoon River Anthology · Edgar Lee Masters