The Worker

Richard W. Thomas
Language: English

My father lies black and hushed
Beneath white hospital sheets
He collapsed at work
His iron left him
Slow and quiet he sank
Meeting the wet concrete floor on his way
the wheels were still turning – they couldn’t stop
Red and yellow lights flashing
Gloved hands twisting knobs – they couldn’t stop
And as they carried him out
The whirling and buzzing and humming machines
Applauded him
Lapping up his dripping iron
They couldn’t stop.

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