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The Summer After
- University of Arkansas Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
The Summer After I wore the company’s washed boots. I jammed my hair inside my hat And pinned it like the old women Who were first to arrive at church. I worked fourteen cooling kettles And carried long-stemmed spatulas To scrape a shift’s mixed cubes of meat And vegetables, shake loose the salt. I worked spaghetti with hot dogs, Friday, four thirty, the day shift Backed up at three lights I could see From the seventh story for soup. That summer, there were new bosses Back from the war that wanted me As soon as I filled my transcript. They sent me into boxcars where The split bags of dried beans and flour Roiled white dust around my face. My second week, I had to kneel In watery blood to unclog A set of drains. For half a shift, Pairs of men had hoisted frozen Beef slabs, one hundred pounds per lift, And they were long sick of wading p80 1FINCKE_pages.qxd 5/21/08 9:31 AM Page 80 Ankle-deep. One veteran boss Repeated, “Clear the fucking things,” Adding “Use your fingers” for flesh Half fat that thawed into the shape And size of a hundred drain holes. I felt for meat and pulled it free. On the loading docks, the lifters Faced the street to smoke. The warehouse Rose so close; the sun’s shift, in June, Shone only from ten until two. 81 P 1FINCKE_pages.qxd 5/21/08 9:31 AM Page 81 ...