<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</SPAN></span>
<h2 class="nobreak">FOUNDRY WORKERS</h2>
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<div class="verse">Brown faces twisted back</div>
<div class="verse">Into an ecstasy of tight resistance;</div>
<div class="verse">Eyes that are huge sweat drops</div>
<div class="verse">Unheeded by the struggle underneath them—</div>
<div class="verse">Throughout the night you stagger under walls</div>
<div class="verse">Where life is squeezed to squealing bitterness.</div>
<div class="verse">Beneath your heaving flash of limbs</div>
<div class="verse">Your thoughts are smashed to a dejected trance</div>
<div class="verse">And you are swept, like empty mites,</div>
<div class="verse">Into a glistening frenzy of motion....</div>
<div class="verse">Yet, on a Sunday afternoon</div>
<div class="verse">I have seen you straightening your backs with slow smiles;</div>
<div class="verse">Walking through the streets</div>
<div class="verse">And patiently groping for lost outlines.</div>
<div class="verse">Your lips were placid bruises</div>
<div class="verse">Almost fearing to relax,</div>
<div class="verse">And often out upon some green</div>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</SPAN></span>
<div class="verse">Your legs swung themselves into long lost shapes.</div>
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<div class="verse">Perhaps upon your death-beds</div>
<div class="verse">You will lift your hands, with a wraith of grace,</div>
<div class="verse">Showing life a last, weak curve</div>
<div class="verse">Of the rhythm he could not kill.</div>
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