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Application for acceptance into humanity
Some night an old worker might
yell across the pub “Hey Blondie,
is that you?” Nobody’s called me
that like forever but I yell back yeah
it’s me and somehow recognize
the guy through layers of years
ago on the railroad; God he’s a
relic, been beaten into the ground
under that desert sun for years after
I left, looks like, and he says loud
enough for Bob and everyone to hear,
“This guy here, he worked hard,
so hard, harder than the rest of us,
strong, strong as a horse if
a horse was dumb enough to pound
spikes into the world all day.”
And the evening goes on the same
after that, maybe illuminated just
a little under the thinnest lightness
of glory.