02 May 2008

I'm in Love



I can tell because when I walked away, my heart was broken by the sounds the littlest one made.


I think the program I used once again failed to record sound.





And here's another poem. It is about construction workers and how my heart goes out to them whenever I see them engaged in their brutally, physically hard way of life and how it affects their bodies and minds and personalities.


Sun-bronzed backs
Embrazened on rooftop,
Hammering shingles
To their limp fall,
All piled on top
Like crows on a tree,
Made hard with work,
Clustered like fleas,
Imprisoned in the amber
Of class by their work,
Their anger and sadness
Emanates in mad, masculine
Waves.
Blistered hands in the blistering sun
Carelessly tossing the day’s
Flotsam and jetsam.

It is always the same radio
Station from the same
Paint-stained boombox,
Blasting songs thirty years old.

Dust blown off vinyl
Vinyl-sided homes
Homes vacated into houses
Houses beaten into submission
Submission to the call of the cold, cheap beer
Beer that is the only
form of solace at
the end of another
body-blasted day
amongst the wreckage
of tenuous structure &
tender sensitivity’s
decay

2 comments:

frankie teardrop said...

can hear the sheep. that is some heartbreaking stuff...

interesting poem, the perspective is good, and that's the image i get whenever i see a few bruised and broken construction workers kicking back for a brief moment of relaxation. it's the simple pleasures, though... my brother still does this, last i checked, but i think he's still rather fond of the work. i'm not sure it's all the sad imagery we conjure...i feel like a lot of construction workers take pride in their work.

KLA* said...

good point.