1

The seven o'clock whistle
Made the morning air fulvous
With a metallic syncopation
A key to a door in the sky---opening
& closing flesh. The melody
Men & women built lives around
Sonorous as the queen bee's fat
Hum drawing workers from flowers
Back to the colonized heart
A titanous puff of steam rose
From the dragon trapped below
Iron, bricks, & wood
The whole black machine
Shuddered: blue jays & redbirds
Wove light through leaves
& something dead under the foundation
Brought worms to life
Men capped their thermoses
Switched off Loretta Lynn
& slid from trucks & cars
The rip saws throttled
& swung out over logs
On conveyer belts
Daddy lifted the tongs
To his right shoulder . . . a winch
Uncoiled the steel cable
From its oily scrotum;
He waved to the winchman
& iron teeth bit into the pine
Yellow forklifts darted
With lumber to boxcars
Marked for distant cities
At noon, Daddy would walk
Across the field of goldenrod
& mustard weeds, the pollen
Bright & sullen on his overalls
He'd eat on our screened-in
Back porch---red beans & rice
With hamhocks & cornbread
Lemonade & peach Jello
The one o'clock bleat
Burned sweat & salt into afternoon
& the wheels within wheels
Unlocked again, pulling rough boards
Into the plane's pneumatic grip
Wild geese moved like a wedge
Between sky & sagebrush
As Daddy pulled the cable
To the edge of the millpond
& sleepwalked cypress logs
The day turned on its axle
& pyramids of russet sawdust
Formed under corrugated
Blowpipes fifty feet high
The five o'clock whistle
Bellowed like a bull, controlling
Clocks on kitchen walls;
Women dabbed loud perfume
Behind their ears & set tables
Covered with flowered oilcloth

2

When my father was kicked by the foreman
He booted him back
& his dreams slouched into an aftershock
Of dark women whispering
To each other. Like petals of a black rose
In one of Busby Berkeley's
Oscillating dances in a broken room. Shadows
Runagates & Marys
The steel-gray evening was a canvas
Zigzagged with questions
Curling up from smokestacks, as dusky birds
Brushed blues into a montage
Traced back to L'Amistad & the psychosis
Behind Birth of a Nation
With eyes against glass & ears to diaphanous doors
I heard a cornered prayer
Car lights rubbed against our windows
Ravenous as snow wolves
A brick fell into the livingroom like a black body
& a riot of drunk curses
Left the gladioli & zinnias
Maimed. Double dares
Took root in night soil
The whistle boiled
Gutbucket underneath silence
& burned with wrath
But by then Daddy was with Uncle James
Outside The Crossroad
Their calloused fingers caressing the .38
On the seat of the pickup;
Maybe it was the pine-scented moonglow
That made him look so young
& faceless, wearing his mother's powder blue
Sunday dress & veiled hat