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its fingers touch each blade of the field,
its lips kiss each bough of the orchard.
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If I weren’t a reporter I wouldn’t be here
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2 poems about work that go together decently
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While being condemned, despised, and grossly misunderstood
By millions, whose very way of life, depends upon her
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I pitty you because you so do not get it
But that's not my problem
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hot sparks cinder flesh
unfelt no thought.
-
-
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I drank all night until light
Sparked
-
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from the crucible came terra cotta
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After exerting every ounce of energy
On what you love to do
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old and feeble
bent sideways
my ass.
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heatstroke I am saved
Saltaire I say thanks
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dust and dirt soiled me
a hard ride on the horse to see
-
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Keep the plow to the soil
Keep your eyes on the prize
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Yes, I work at Cinemark.
Not the greatest job in the world,
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When I am elbow deep in soapy water,
when my back is turned muscles aching
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It was a sad sight
Empty cart rail
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Someone ran my foot over with a car today at work
You see I am a cart pusher
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This old house? No way!
It is this old battle axe
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We call it the bone yard
Where carts go to die
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Please slow down
Watch behind you when you are back out of a parking spot
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When you enter that store across the street
You might find a sign over the cart rail in the store
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The weight of the farm your- world
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It found me again sometimes at night,
the hum prickling just under my skin
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all these buildings you believe conceive high hope of working maternity
and if pregnental the pins punch
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Welcome to Yellow Arches hell
just leave your dreams here, by the door.
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Inside The Eternal Sun
By C.E. Rangel
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