Labor

Labor

 

Loud rumbling bikes.  Smothering solder guns.

Rusting sculptures. The toil of women willing

To bake their skin to keep their children safe.

Three sides of a square cluttered with papers

Strewn accidentally.  Not enough to hold life

Together for one nomad.  He moves again.

Dread locks us.  Prisoners still dream.  Cracked

Paint reminds pigeons to fly.  Hot bricks scorch

The feet of toiling women.  Can we keep children safe?

The operation fails.  Feet hurt just for standing.

Time.  No one has the time.  Even our souls rebel,

Not enjoying this new supposed form.  Life?

Smoke diffuses.  Today’s medicine is not

Quick enough to slow us down to past paces.

Toiling women.  Smiling children.  Non-time.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s