Danny Dies at the Dish Factory
from Driving to Wellsville, page 5
ISBN: 1-931002-30-4
Petaluma, 2003
He got everyday here
grinding in his skin.
Blue smoke, washed out bricks
and a sawdust glint in his eye.
The Methodists shake his hand on Sunday,
throw him to the dogs on Monday.
He fall against the morning sky
iced heart shattered into piles of dust and oil,
giant fans hum a country western tune.
He slide away on a desperate kiss,
he thinks chicken salad and apples,
he sees brown paper bag and hard toed shoes.
