Wrists Inclined To Labor
Curling 'round the wrists of men
scent of soda, salty skin
burning asphalt and the like
mentholated, acrid sky
Simmered hint of peppermint
lager froth and dart board dust
brisk of midnight on their brow
jaw a concrete bite
Silver watches in their glow
holding scents of lemon musk
brandied oil, wishes too
from every girl they've met
Work is there right at their wrists
melting steel and stamping sleet
backward masked and fortunate
snap of smoke and sky
Earthen ginger, piped and singed
braided breath of momentum
granite blood and calloused hands
centered feet and grease
Held at bay in warm appeal
shadows way past five o'clock
Carved out strong and seared robust
these wrists inclined to labor.
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006
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