1683

DOCK STRIKE

To close a place, then feel
Unused to its light...

I expected the colors of day
To shine above the weed-dream,

The pace of a mail-sorting room
Clocking along. Boats zip

Through the harbor, little
Black dresses yielding.

That's class in America,
A sensuous bit of piffle

Disguising for not a second
An endless array of iron bars.

Evergreen. Hanjin. Maersk.
The idiot wants to say,

"That's where the real poetry
Is happening," and we want

Him to say it. It feels good
To feel superior. Nothing

Keeps changing, lately
By getting hotter than ever.

The thing is, everybody
Knows. Also, a lot of us pray.