Working Class
Our bodies under weight
machines better fed
spit embers and
commands above
scream for more coal—
hot stinking exhaust
curls round and sticks
in layers of sweat,
we choke
on ashes
fathers long gone
bones to dust rested on bottom of
coffee-colored coffins with fool’s gold hinges
gleaned with polish from funeral home
—
Monique Tranchina is currently a senior undergrad studying English literature at a small university. In her spare time she enjoys sewing, spending time with animals, and gardening. Her inspiration for this poem was her father and grandfather, whom she is indebted to for teaching her hard work ethics and sincerity.
