The Windmill Farm

I was drawing a windmill onto the fog in the mirror after a shower, when I thought, why am I drawing a windmill onto the fog in the mirror? Then I answered, I’m drawing a windmill because it is a metaphor for rain. Next, I wiped the windmill off the mirror with my towel, and got ready for work. I work at a windmill farm 45 miles east of Los Angeles. The job consists mostly of staring at windmills. Mondays we meditate under the windmills, the company brings in a yogi with a PhD in philosophy. Tuesdays are Texas hold ’em Tuesdays. Wednesdays we stare at the windmills with absolute fear. Thursdays we check for mechanical failures and other duties as necessary. Fridays, Fridays we wipe the windmill blades clean of flies and mosquito guts. Then on weekends I watch boxing and long for the swooshing sounds of the windmill farm. Weekends are tough, but it’s only two days.

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This piece originally appeared in Rattle, 54, Winter 2016.

Jose Hernandez Diaz is a 2017 NEA Poetry Fellow. He holds degrees in English and creative writing from the University of California, Berkeley, and Antioch University Los Angeles. His work appears in The Best American Nonrequired Reading, Green Mountains Review, Huizache, The Journal, Los Angeles Review, New American Writing, Pleiades, The Progressive, Rattle, Witness, and other journals. He has served as an editor for Floricanto Press and Lunch Ticket. He tweets at @JoseHernandezDz.