Working Hands
Hard and scared, skin cracked and rough looks tough as hell
Grime permanently etched like hide stretched over muscle
Cuts still sting.
Filled with dirt they hurt with every fist clenched and fingers stretched to pick up a Jerry,
Carry to a pump site; Can’t fight fire without water right?
Released like a claw
Wrist pain from running saw.
Completely black at the end of a 16
They are our most important machine.
Blister over blister on the underside of every palm
Stay calm keep trying; Knots need untying
Time is precious but our fingers won’t take directions
Stiff and torn no time to heal before morn
It’s back to the grind, get up by sheer power of mind
Not sure if they can keep going but they do.
Because right now more than ever they absolutely have to.
Peter Navratil
Ghost Town
My city is a ghost town
There is nobody here
Unrecognizable
Street corners I knew so well
Can’t see through the smoke
Every bright colour grey
The fires are close and we know it
Passing empty streets to put them out
Ads are useless and insensitive
My city is a ghost town
There is nobody here
Driving
I can’t see the sky
Homes empty
My throat is raw
My fingers are bleeding
We work another day
Self-made mochas in the morning
My city is a Ghost town
There is nobody here
Except
Red and Blue lights flashing
We are waved through road blocks
Working longer days than I am awake
Surviving off trail mix
Can’t live here but yet we really do live
What we really do people don’t see
My city is a ghost town
There is nobody here
There is nobody here
Peter Navratil