Sailing
great white whales
on the urban dawn
wheel along the grey vacant
shoals of east Colfax,
yawning from curb to bus-stop curb,
spouting sprays of rude airbrake hisses,
for thirty-five cents exact change.
sailors deep
in lumbering, long-bellied
wombs of steel
sway to the song
of lunchbox yoga,
contemplating hints of a porthole sunrise,
breathing in dreams of sweet diesel fumes
until
one by one
deliverance shall cast them
on the far distant shores
of another working day.
By STEVEN R. GROUT
(Reprinted with permission)
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