The Moon and the Donkey - resubmit

The Moon was a legend in logger lore.
Near seven foot and bear-like,
strong as an ox.
We called him The Moon
on account
of his luminous bald head.

We never knew how
the steam donkey fell on Moon
but men came running
from all over camp.

All we could see of Moon
in the muddy rut
was his bald head and it was screaming
“Off me! Off me!”
as the donkey sank down crushing,
crushing,
crushing the breath out of Moon.

We put our shoulders to the metal,
heaving until our heads throbbed.
Thirty of us seeing stars,
fallers, swampers and cook
but it budged not an inch.
All the while Moon was bawling
“Off me! Off me!”
weakening fast.

I knelt in the muck holding his head
and lying to him as his breath left
and he whispered his agony
until, in the awful silence
we stood away,
impotent,
looking down
at the wide unseeing eyes,
the blood filled mouth.

Later, after help arrived
and the donkey righted,
it dawned on us,
Moon knew he was done for

and “Off me!” was a plea
for a swifter way out.