I have been participating in writing a poem a day for the month of January and so far have only missed yesterday due to a heavy schedule of work. Here is one of the poems from last week.
Smoko
$1.50 and no line at the vending
machine. He holds $3.20 and a funny
line to try on the denim skirt
who drives the smoko van.
From out of the lunch room
in the warehouse, “Who punched
my bus-kits?”
“Just hair brew!”
Under a shade cloth
a weld of cheese is squeezed,
drips from stained hands
on to overalls
that used to be navy blue.
Silver hair unfolds
a white salad
sandwich, bows
his head, the same
smile he wears every day
for the last thirty years.