Placer Mining On The Fortymile Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

Placer mining for the pleasure of it
isn't all beer and skittles by any means
no matter what you may have heard

We drove up from the lower forty-eight
in a beat-up pickup truck to a claim
on the Fortymile near Chicken

We grubbed for gold with a dredge
in the cold river hours on end
separating gravel and sand

like bedlamites driven by visions
of a treasure beyond imagination -
nuggets of the stuff dreams are made of!

Poets and prospectors share in common a lust
for the strike - the sight of gold dust
in the debris and dirt of everyday life!