Dawn Leas, Summer 2016

Two Poems

Manual Labor
Dawn Leas

A half-moon huddle of guys
in front of used tire shop–
grease-rimmed nails, calloused hands,
jeans riding low t-shirts bearing the brunt
of their work. Cigarettes pinched
between middle fingers and thumbs,
they alternate between long drags
and swigs of fresh coffee
from extra-large Styrofoam cups.

Driving to my desk job
in the simmer of summer
air chilling my bare arms,
I vow to one day roll down
the windows and linger at stop sign Continue reading “Dawn Leas, Summer 2016” →

June 26, 2016 0

Ed McCafferty, Summer 2016

Two poems

Sunflowers
Ed McCafferty

We usually walked everywhere,
but that day burned into us
with a bright chrome yellow,
and my father was on edge
so we rode the Forty Fort bus.
The bus was hot and crowded
and its motion caused me to vomit.
My father tried to clean it up
with his handkerchief,
like gathering in a sunflower
which had fallen
in the thick stale air.

A coal miner, standing
in the aisle while riding
home from his shift,
his face and work clothes dark
with coal dust and looking
like a statue of some saint Continue reading “Ed McCafferty, Summer 2016” →