The factory. River water pushes in
electric out. Stoic faces, busy hands,
leaning forward, tools clanking,
assembly lines organizing, textiles, metals,
lathes and labor, pallets and wire.
Row houses, red brick,
open windows, curtains lipping the
corners, pipes with steam, chimneys
black belching, parking lots and fences,
green service doors, fans spinning,
workers in overalls, boots scuffing,
cigarettes in hand trailing smoke,
hats tipped, machines humming,
trucks entering, trash emptied, shadows to
the east, the aroma of grease, diesel and
motor oil settles onto everything.
The river rolls by uninterested.
Roger Singer 