the machine

For the entire next day, the machine stood silent under its tarp. There was a perfunctory twine fence strung up between makeshift posts in a wide circumference around the machine–the nearest camper was not within a half mile of the shrouded rocket. The ground around the machine was strewn with tools and scraps and other detritus of invention and construction. Acetylene torches like strange alien probes, confetti bits of wire insulation, dully glinting washers and bolts, cans of paint with leftover reservoirs congealed at the bottom, brushes forgotten, their bristles made brittle and useless, scraps of metal with edges burned black and jagged, and a massive black anvil like a fossilized bone from some unimaginable prehistorical animal.

from “Earthly Possessions”