Two Poems by Judson Simmons
The Day Laborers
They sit, motionless
in the truck bed
of a beat up ’87 Chevy.
Four of them, tossed
into the back like soiled
rags underneath the sink.
Trace Fragments of an Ending
When the train tracks falter, tremble
on the rails above—a thousand pigeons
crumble, thousand pigeons will cry,
then tear away from the girders
and crevices they’re shaken from.
Those ashen bodies, shaded by turquoise
chokers, tumble towards the sidewalk
in celestial disarray, regain their committee,
only to scatter with each car tearing past.
How could they ever understand
that subtle turn between evening and night—
dawn and day? Their lives stir and push
from one moment to the next—only to slip
into a tiny fracture between sky and earth,
and a dusk that will never settle.