Iron Worker's Dream Poem by Wayne Jackson


I am me looking up at him.
sweat run over ribs..tickling
air liquid and choking…hot
a field with grass…tangled green
ground……friendly conspirator
a column …red and flowing
neck muscles strain to stretch…looking upward
vertical parallels…the beam
I am me looking up at him.

A stranger…sun peeking over his shoulder
the outline…indistinct because of brightness.
He is looking down at me.
He seems to know me well.
a stranger
I seem to know him well
a stranger
He knows I’m glad I’m here..
I know he wishes he weren’t.

Then
places change
people….white ants on a hill
trees…dwarfed green dots
machines…toys covered with thumbs
sun…burning back
height….fellow worker
ground….distant enemy
He is I looking up at me
I am him looking down on me
***


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