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The Frac Hand

 


The Frac Hand

He showed up greener than springtime grass
Boots too clean
Heart beatin' too fast
Didn’t know iron from elbow or hand
Just a guy with a hammer and a head full of sand
Them old boys barked and them old boys swore
Dust in their teeth
Boots worn to the core
"Hit it, boy. Harder. Swing till it sings."
So he swung and he prayed on them broke-down things
By noon he was blistered
By sundown he bled
Still he swung that hammer
Like it owed him his bread
No "good job" came
No pat on the back
Just more busted iron and lines to stack
An old roughneck, chaw drippin’ slow
Watched him struggle like a calf in the snow
Then one morning, with Hank Williams in the air
He spit in the dust and said a small prayer
"Didn't think you'd last, but maybe you can
Keep swingin’, boy
You might make Hand"
He didn’t know then what them words really meant
Didn’t know pride has a price
And sweat pays the rent
Respect ain’t given for being polite
You earn it with blisters
And fight after fight
Now he stands where the wild winds scream
Hands busted open
Bones cracked at the seam
He came there green, but he made his stand
And somehow, by grace
He'd made a Hand.
-Stephen Ango Oliver April 2025

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