Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Day Labor mornings...

are queasy stomachs,
and pounding heads,
and empty pockets,
and Oh, what a smell!
They are folding
metal chairs
and gaudily painted walls
with an ancient bulletin board,
its loose, yellow pages
barely hanging on.
A creaking swivel
office chair on
the other side
of the counter.

Day Labor mornings
are the hope for
cigarettes and a burger
at days end.
The chance of a bottle
to make the way straight.
They are poor whites,
and browns and blacks
crowded around a
filthy coffee urn
desperate in their
unrelenting itch
that must be daily scratched.

And to those left
sitting in uncomfortable,
unforgiving chairs
still at mid morning,
Day Labor is a huge
disappointment
that must be endured
and repeated each day.