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The
Lash
This
is how it was
cold
wet
muscles
tense
moving
fast
pulling
the metal
rods
down
that
bind the towers
of
stacked steel boxes
to
the ship's deck
Watching
your feet
in
the narrow aisles
One
eye up for falling rods
Jumping
to the slam of the crane's rack
scooping
cargo to shore
Hardhat
long gone
Gloves
sagging from rain
rivers
of sweat
and
grease thick as butter
on
the rusty threads of binders
that
won't budge
The
soft pads of your palms
bruising
as you finally turn loose, spin
and
drop the worn turnbuckles
where
they lay
like
dead bodies
in
an open grave
KEVIN CASTLE Local 19
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