Still they continue
And swing drop lift
Swing drop lift,
Driving the spike despite
Blisters and thirst.
One then another
And swing drop lift
Swing drop lift
Moving as one somehow
Hitting in sequence
They swing drop lift
Swing drop lift
Filling the air
With a
Ping ping ping
Ping ping ping
Railroad song.
*****
Rail-Splitter
Rail-splitter cry in the deep dark night,
Raise your hammer and show your might.
In the lamplight you hear her scream,
Blue-faced beauty of whom you dream.
Puffy lips pouting and eyes ice black,
Cold like the steel on a railroad track.
Before, beneath, below, beyond,
All hell loose and all love gone.
Swing and clang and split and wood,
Do your job like a good man should.
Yes and no and yes and no
And yes and no and yes yes yes
And there you go and so much sweat
And work so hard for the money you get
And all day long so hard so strong
While sun beats down and bosses look on,
And damn and hell and bills to pay
And no cash left and fired today
And swing and pound and push and lunge
And now and now and now and
Scream.
Rail-splitter rest in the deep dark night,
You don’t feel better but you do feel right.
*****
Bru Tal Ity
And when the sun had beaten down long
Enough, burning every last bit of humanity
Out of his melting head, every bit of everything but
Roasting agony, waves of heat curling off
Distorting the air around him like ripples in a pond,
Marking the life and hope streaming out of him
In silvery capitulation of the equatorial steam,
That was when the rest of us knew we had
Done enough, done our jobs in tearing him down as
Directed by the intuitive power of our genes,
The war for reproduction driving us all to wreck the com
petition, leaving more possible homes for the bio
logical contents of our imaginary treasure troves. And so
we were left to stand and watch with hearts both light
and heavy, basking and revolted at one and the same time
As the Florida sun cooked him in his skull
Like a lobster in its shell, waiting expectant
ly with drawn butter in hand, savoring the thought of how
Fantastic his flesh his emotions his dreams
Will taste when we sink our teeth and that first squirt of juice
Squirt of flavor squirt of soul passes through
The membrane between his world and our much more
bru
tal
one.
*****
Home Fires
A.
A screaming woman, crimson gown,
Sweating loud and pushing down
Against the mothy blankets of
A bloody bed in Hometown.
Spreading legs and midwife arms
Reveal the feeble fleshy form
That strives to suck the Hometown air
Like some writhing, bloody worm.
Upon a stand a lamp glows dim,
Shadows hiding her from him,
Watching helpless by the door,
Husband praying, waiting for.
Outside rain is falling fast
Blinding lightning flashing past,
Thunder smashing with the shrieks
That bring the thing the life it seeks.
And then, a clap, a cry, a cleave,
A holy signal one must leave,
The final flood of pain and blood,
A new voice screams, a cord is cut.
From one come two, from two come three,
A child held high for him to see;
The husband smiles, the husband sobs,
It gives him life, his life it robs.
And the wailing woman, the wailing girl
Flicker like phantoms in the lamp-flame’s curl,
The light so tired, the shadows so long
Hide the greedy home fires,
Still blazing, still strong.
Stained glass windows wall the place,
Color the cover of each proud face,
Stiff red smiles and dim yellow frowns,
Coal black eyes turned green look down.
High cold ceilings and marble floors
Echo the whispers, the organ chords.
Some of the fathers are robed in white,
Gliding like ghosts in a censered night --
Others are strapped into rare dark suits,
Collars for hardhats, new shoes for boots.
And there by the water, one by one,
Taking their daughters, giving their sons
To grim holy phrases and gestures and prayers,
To the God of their parents who watches them there.
And waiting in silence for the turn of her own
Is the mother of the child of the storm and the home,
No longer bloody or screaming with birth
But bringing her girl to the good holy church.
Finally, he calls her, his arms opened wide,
She gives him the baby, and stays by her side
As a blessing, a Bible, a bell, a splash,
And a new church infant is lifted at last.
The mother is happy, the grandmothers nod,
Another pure child is christened to God.
And the smiling mother, the crying babe,
Flare in the smoldering candle flame,
The wick so low, the glow grown small,
Just another home fire,
Still lighting them all.
C.
Out in the back yard, the little girl plays,
Finding the sunlight in Hometown haze,
Green grass and flowers polluted with gray
To the fresh mind become a bright, brilliant bouquet.
From the dirty streams, oceans, from the rock piles, thrones,
Princes from miners and scepters from bones,
Running and laughing and flying on swings,
Amazed at the wonderful thrill each day brings.
And soon she is learning with others in school,
Reciting her letters and numbers and rules,
And everything opens, becomes brighter still
With stories and dreams from beyond the bleak hills.
She pledges allegiance, she says all her prayers,
She learns to be good, to behave, to beware,
Finds new games to play with new friends from Hometown,
The right way to dress and to act and to sound.
At home there is more, from the mother who shows
How to cook, how to clean the house, how to wash clothes,
How to scrub the floor, make the fire, sew and buy food,
How to be a good wife, what a mother must do.
So each day the girl grows in her body and mind
And soon she is seven and then she is nine,
Under the dark skies, the whimpering wind,
The only place, every place, place without end.
And the loving mother, the loyal child
Live in the faint sun, the fire defiled,
The days so cloudy, the shine so dull
Mark another home fire,
Irresistible call.
D.
Dresses, tresses, messes, lessons
Fill the days of adolescence,
Blooming, brooding, blushing, break
ing,
Dances, chances for the taking.
In a blink, the child is gone,
A vibrant woman carries on,
Graceful, gentle, hoping now
That life will be so bright somehow.
Gray skies forgotten, hard times ignored,
Roses from crabgrass at her word,
Closing mines she does not see,
Just the joy that youth can be.
And then, as she was taught and told
She finds the one, the love to hold,
The match, the man, the light, the loin,
The fated future she must join.
Beneath bright moons they walk together,
Getting closer, getting better,
Life amid the dying land,
Speaking, touching, holding hands.
They wonder, promise, make their plans,
Play the part of girl and man,
Prepared for years, they know the lines,
The epic poems out of time.
And the joyful mother, the imminent bride
Glow at the news in the light from the sky,
The moon so distant, the night so deep,
Set the same home fires,
Reflections they keep.
E.
Creamy satin, pearly braid,
A dress the mothers before her made,
Some are watching, some are dead,
All fulfilled within her tread.
Finally, the day has come,
Years ago, with screams begun,
The dream is true, the stories real,
The wonderful way they said she’d feel.
And then, a song, a step, a stare,
Until the couple coalesce,
One from two, no more, no less.
People like a stained glass sculpture
Watch the wedding, face the altar,
Remembering when they were meeting,
Forgetting work and pain, retreating.
At last, the words, the ring, the gesture,
Priest pronounces, bless him, bless her,
Applause and music, laughter echo,
Streams of light strike through the window.
Beams of brightness brush the bride,
Tie the bridegroom at her side,
He lifts her, carries from the crowd,
Outside they kiss, he puts her down.
And the crying mother, the smiling wife
Shine in the sunlight elusive in life,
Everything happy, everything clear,
Disguises home fires,
Still potent, still near.
A.
A screaming woman, crimson gown,
Sweating loud and pushing down
Against the mothy blankets of
A bloody bed in Hometown.
Spreading legs and midwife arms
Reveal the feeble fleshy form
That strives to suck the Hometown air
Like some writhing, bloody worm.
Upon a stand a lamp glows dim,
Shadows hiding her from him,
Watching helpless by the door,
Husband praying, waiting for.
And then, a clap, a cry, a cleave,
A holy signal one must leave,
The final flood of pain and blood,
A new voice screams, a cord is cut.
From one come two, from two come three,
A child held high for him to see;
The husband smiles, the husband sobs,
It gives him life, his life it robs.
And the wailing woman, the wailing girl
Flicker like phantoms in the lamp-flame’s curl,
The light so tired, the shadows so long
Hide the greedy home fires,
Still blazing, still strong.
*****
Moment Of Glory
A room full of gas,
Whiskey fumes, beer breath,
Generic cigarettes, even
Cigars, pumping bitter steam
In vast acrid layers -- even
Somewhere, dopesmoke sneaking out of
Crappers, past flies suddenly dizzy
And condom dispensers --
Any color 50¢ --
Smoke and Grandad gas, hanging and
Farts, beer farts, vomit, mixing
With Value City perfume, huge puffs clinging
To lipstick and mascara like stinking balloons tied
To their faces, pulling them up, up
When they should be looking down --
Smell everywhere, gas inflammable
Sifting and sticking to every paintchip, every
Armpit, and if just one more
Camel lit, it would all go up,
First thunder
Then every glass, every bottle
Like ten thousand fingernails all
At once scraped down chalkboards,
And one big scream
And then just wind and puddles of Bud.
Dim lights so the joint just glows
Like a crushed butt;
Faces in the gas, in the glass,
Eyeball white and bloodshot,
Girleyes brushed thickblack like
Coal seams, bluejeans stretched
Over pumpkin asses, tightcrotched
To distract from flab.
Some laugh, some mumble, some
Sleep, all with glasses
Or cans...
And guys play music.
A low, mean beat rolls out of a
Corner, rumbling out through the gas
And over the tables, the eyeballs,
A tractor, a pickup, a big
Ford gearing down and plowing over the
Room, just waiting to rip into fourth
And blow out of there at 75
But never quite
Making it.
Four guys play country,
Sweating free beer and slowing down
Because it’s three o’clock.
Nobody dances.
Then, he looks around.
His eyes are wide and pink, rarely
Blinking but jumping from side to
Side as he looks.
More Miller’s, then a dim spark
Like someone striking flint in
The back of his skull,
He grins --
Sets the glass back down in its ring
On the table --
Stands up slowly, feeling the motor-music
Driving past --
And explodes.
He dances freakishly, suddenly, all
Alone before the music guys
And surrounded by the eyeball people.
His arms whip around at crazy
Angles like fishing poles
And his head hops up and down,
Bobbing in the gas with pubic greasy
Hair flinging.
White T-shirt, blue jeans blur as
His short legs stomp and spider over
Can tabs and butts, belly
Knocking his Chevy buckle and
Swinging as he jumps around.
He twists and writhes, contorts
Obscenely like a hooked fish,
Flapping and vibrating, thrusting chest
Out and ass back, kicking and
Jolting -- face tight, eyes shut, teeth
Clenched in concentration.
People laugh; band starts
To gear down, shifting for him into
One final blow, full throttle,
And the new beat spins him
Around like a top --
Arms, legs, belly, hair
Flapping faster, faster in the glowing
Gas, and the people laugh and
Start to clap to the beat and
It makes him wild...
They circle around, all eyeballs and
Mascara in the smoke, hooting
And yowling for the clown, cheering,
A chorus for the piston-music.
He leaps and shakes and the
Music guys prod him on a little
Faster, drums punching his stomach, his
Head, so they jerk again and
Again he dives like a chicken,
Bones and flesh flying random, as if
Unconnected, strung to fingers in the
Lights, and he spins frantically --
He dances, they cheer and clap
And the music beats them all
Like fighters in the smoke,
And it starts to climb and he
Leaps across the floor, teeth clenched
Still, eyes clamped and every inch
Whipping and quaking faster
Faster clapping drumming
Faster scrawling faster in
Orgiastic blowout and faster and
His features dissolve in churning
Gas faster faster harder and a
Single chord screaming through
All their sweaty skulls and
Glass breaks and he finally explodes
In a freaky stagger,
His slick, greasy head thrown
Back in the smoke.
Then he crumples dead
To the slimy floor
And somebody belches.
*****
Denim Skirt
Denim skirt swirling,
You spin across the dance floor
With a smile on your face
Like the clockwork cosmos spinning around you
In infinite majesty,
Grand and eternal and spotless
As your high-topped white sneakers with the
White ribbon laces.
Your husband keeps pace flawlessly,
His only imperfection his red and white seersucker shirt,
Soaked with sweat in the humid
Afternoon, everyone sweating except
You, the spinning one,
The denim skirt, unimpeachable,
Untranslatable in your transubstantiation
Of cosmic elements and music of the spheres
Transmitted via waves of three-count polka
Music, converting billions of years
And billions of moments
And billions of interactions into
Just this polka moment
Just this polka polka You.
*****