forward quietly. Take, for instance, "Under Air," about the everyday lethality of one of oil drilling's byproducts, hydrogen sulfide. It begins with the poet holding his own oxygen mask:"All men must be clean shaven, a small mustache is acceptable but the rubber has to seal/Here, your pale-boy face is a virtue; the men dull 10 razors a month."
What we have here is a naming of parts and perils. But Mr. [Mathew] Henderson swings the poem around like a derrick.
from New York Times: On the Job, and Reading Between the Gritty Lines
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