A Reminder That I’m Still Alive

This body will not be a graveyard. If it be a warzone, I will take it to the front lines. Continue reading →

Poem

A spot welder worked next to me for a couple of weeks— mask, torch, gloves, cap backwards like a jockey Continue reading →

Repetition

It’s the same job every day that kills you. He’d been at the foundry since ’53, now a hunchback high Continue reading →

For Herb Alpert

The sound of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass bounced from a skinny radio in the cafeteria. If you closed Continue reading →

Notes

Summer birds lived in trees near the engine foundry in Brook Park. You could hear them in the evening, but Continue reading →

Blue

June 5th, 1968: before work I walked from one end of the foundry to the other. Engine lines were waiting Continue reading →

A Farmer’s Bar Mitzvah

I saw you crouched in the dusty half-light fed by grain. You came up panting and laid the burlap sack Continue reading →