Laborer


The man began to cry
Four feet from my ears
Which stretched and strained
To catch his conversation
In their elastic curiosity
Great fat tears
Sliding down the mountains and valleys
Cheeks and hollowed out lines
In the corners of eyes and lips
Wetting the paper skin
As shoulders shook and hands trembled
Some words about a daughter
A young girl not seen for a while
The tender sorrow brought to
An unintentionally absent father
Pain is the color of the water
Draining from the ducts
on this man’s lash line
his white overalls
stained with the sun
of labor done with his hands
not his mind
his face now drying
salty residue in the hairs of his chin
lapping up the remains of his Americano
I lose interest

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