at
twenty-two
i
was the old man of the crew
spiking
hammers singing thru the air
steel
rails ring
nipping
nudging them over for the embankment
a
perfect curve
can
be a beautiful thing
when
building a railroad siding
like
singing
joy
to the world
along
with a half-dozen mangy heads
hair
wrapped in ponytails
sweat
like greasy bare muscle
from
kentucky through west virginia
every
hollow with an echo
rivers
of steam & haze
'til
night falls
and
the music rises
---
e b bortz
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