Pat Adams Poet Quatrain

The Prize

I worked on an old oil rig
In red Oklahoma mud
Throwing chains and working hard
Sore muscles with sweat and blood

Forty eight inch pipe wrenches
Will sure tire your arms a bit
If you want to eat and live
You have to get used to it

When working 12 hours a night
It's likely to wear you down
One day when I got off work
I happened to look towards town

Treetops peeked above thick fog
A rainbow against the sun
That sight I'll never forget
A prize for a job well done

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Daniel Turner June 21, 2017 at 7:24 AM Hello Roger. I too worked on an oil rig but for only 8 years, in Texas. It was the most fun I ever had and with the craziest bunch of guys. Great memories:) I was younger then, work all day, drink all night. I really enjoyed your poem. Pat Adams June 21, 2017 at 3:56 PM I worked on mud rigs. I was a roughneck for about 6 months before I became a driller. Same deal though. Work, drink, and a little bit of sleep. (More like passing out :) Lots of crazy times. Thanks for your comment!! 8o} Roger