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Feb 272010
 

by Gary Kay

 

Each afternoon they saw,

cut boards in even two’s

beside a building condemned

ten years ago.  Their tattooed arms

refuse to rest.


 

I teach to the hum,

the silence of the damp A.C.

My students listen, fade away,

attention span’s a fragile thing.

Inside we feel the workmen’s sweat.


 

They breathe these men.

We hear them one by one.

Outside the nails dig in.