“Untitled Poem”
The toes of my boots do not wear out
Before the heels.
The knees of my pants are not
reinforced
With leather pads.
My belt does not hold
Loops for tools.
My pocket does not hold
A picture of my children and a
crucifix
My lunch bucket does not hold a treat
for the pit ponies
Who are blind from having never seen
the sun.
My hands are not cracked
With black lines of dirt,
One hand larger than the other.
My lungs are not black
With coal dust, coal workers'
pneumoconiosis.
My eyes are not ringed
With greasy soot that stays despite
the lye soap.
My face is not crusted
With coal dust and dirt.
Yet I feel his giant strength in my
blood,
And I won't ever work in the pit.
And that is what he wanted.
No comments:
Post a Comment