THURSDAY: Cleaning Sidewalks


Copyright is held by the author.

Listen to the author read the poem: Cleaning Sidewalks

The old men lean
and white bleeds gray
as they scrape, scrape,
scrape away their dreams
with eyes that pull them
head-bent to their task.

I’ve never seen their eyes
reflected in the windows.

I’ve seen young men,
warm against the brick,
push their vigour down
the scraper to the snow.
Pushing with their arms, their eyes
measuring the next stroke.

Will these young men grow thin,
their pants ballooned and baggy,
their eyes accustomed
to seeing crisp white snow
turn to slush.

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