Getting Hucked

I worked all summer in Idaho
up around Cour d’Alene–
restaurant work,
feeding farmhands
and truckers, mostly.

Everybody was talking about,
crazy about huckleberries.
Huckleberry this, huckleberry that,
huckleberries in everything,
jam, pancakes, syrup, pies,
everything.

We had this joke–
walk into work in the morning,
you didn’t have to touch a counter or anything,
and there would be a big
huckleberry streak on your arm.
We called it getting hucked.

The hours were crazy,
seems like all I did was work
and watch the heat lightening
reflecting off the river at night.

I miss it somehow
in this Portland town.

–Burl Whitman

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