Night Shift

 It was not a heart, beating.
 
That muted boom, that clangor 
Far off, not blood in the ears 
Drumming up and fever 

To impose on the evening.
 
The noise came from outside: 
A metal detonating 
Native, evidently, to 

These stilled suburbs nobody 
Startled at it, though the sound 
Shook the ground with its pounding.
 
It took a root at my coming 

Till the thudding shource, exposed, 
Counfounded in wept guesswork: 
Framed in windows of Main Street's 
Silver factory, immense 

Hammers hoisted, wheels turning, 
Stalled, let fall their vertical 
Tonnage of metal and wood; 
Stunned in marrow.
 Men in white 

Undershirts circled, tending 
Without stop those greased machines, 
Tending, without stop, the blunt 
Indefatigable fact.

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