
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
This body will not be a graveyard. If it be a warzone, I will take it to the front lines. Continue reading
A spot welder worked next to me for a couple of weeks— mask, torch, gloves, cap backwards like a jockey Continue reading
It’s the same job every day that kills you. He’d been at the foundry since ’53, now a hunchback high Continue reading
The sound of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass bounced from a skinny radio in the cafeteria. If you closed Continue reading
Summer birds lived in trees near the engine foundry in Brook Park. You could hear them in the evening, but Continue reading
June 5th, 1968: before work I walked from one end of the foundry to the other. Engine lines were waiting Continue reading
I saw you crouched in the dusty half-light fed by grain. You came up panting and laid the burlap sack Continue reading