Day Dream

By Corrine Schmaltz


Men wake before the sun, I see them

     in fresh shirts and dark boots

     heading towards lifted Chevy’s

     and beat up Pontiac’s, bouncing

     Always moving, without aim

     Worn cogs that slow down

     to smile and wave – Hey!

Men toil under the hot breath of the time keeper

     I see them, with burned necks

     and soaked shirts, holding axe or drill

     or square-nosed shovel      Always bent

        Mangled, aching backs which creak

     to lift heavy heads and tired arms

     that smile and wave – Hey!

Men face west, thrusting out their prideful hearts

     soaking up the last rays of light

     Dust and sweat and fried bologna

     baking into follicles Open pores

     breathing in the nectar of a hard day’s work


I see them, their strong arms and wide legs

     pushing against the unforgiving earth

     resting upon their chariots among

     fellow victors, artisans, compadres–

I see them, in a forgotten dream      We dance

     between pale moon beams      Pressing sap

     into each other’s chest   Their firm hands clutching

    the soft meat of Gracilus       he ends of each strand

     and pursed lip

     grazing breath and navel

I see them       feel them       taste them       

     In vision and sound

     In muscle and bone and tone and itch

     In each orifice and cell and ardor and grit


I see them,

                                            and the Foreman


     as he looks up



and waves –        




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