The Fading Blue Collar

the sounding brass and punchcards
have been put away
and the lines to the lunch-cart dwindle
like stingy wicks expiring
there is only the tamed heart
in its open cage, who does not
test the reins, the dragging cuffs
of eyes lolling past a burning display
mutely vigilant of moments
blocked in ritual
of knots and buttons, keys and cards
pumps and thresholds
 

where the tribe is no longer welcome
sequestered in the salt-lands
and antipodes of withered instinct
domesticated by the boon of surplus
and its ripe paunch
where a day is obligated to
bald duties, and rewarded with solitude
that makes a pale masquerade as safety
 

where have those gorgeous hours gone
 the clocks no longer tick

and time breaks apart
like a skinny wishbone into mirrored ribs
and silent palindromes
forming motes around the bulwarks
of pressure-treated souls
that keep away the vagrants and gypsies
who once came to port with wine
and foreign, esoteric wares
seeding the vestal womb of culture
breeding thicker blood
into the stoic and the pale
 

do they still gather
somewhere far out at sea
painting the dusk horizons
with the dark embers of their fires
can they bear to watch
the world slowly fall away
 

Reviews

[Kimberly Smith]

love it

[Bhavya Kaushik]

I simply loved the plot behind this piece of writing, very descriptive and so well penned!
Overall, a great work :)

[Charles D. Moorer]

Nicely Done!