Retired Collier
His eyes search for sunlight
in the void of the tunnel
where he digs for the black gold
pickaxes pounding
the earth’s ribs
elbows and fists
against the friendly enemy
pick’s pointing edge carries power
meaning of life and its darkness
in which he now rusts. Old
people’s home where
memory crawls to old glory
black lungs recall
white Sunday shirt
the day’s quota off the black wall
scratched, lined soldiers
on the front line defending emptiness
continuous hourly angst
black lining: inescapable
Libros Libertad 