Noises of Industry

You do not hear
the small sounds
of calluses building
upon the palm

You do not hear
the noise of sweat
as it comes down
the brow

You do not hear
the hard-churning
heartbeats as
the faceless workers
struggle up the
muddy hill with
heavy stones
hugged tight
to their chest,
slow rain falling
from a leaden sky

You do not hear
joints in the
seamstress's hands
as they burn from
sewing circles
all day in the
hot, close, loud
shop at the end
of a shabby street

All these small
noises of industry,
of the business
of people and their
uncounted efforts,

They are simply
humming against the
electric vitality
of our promised
future

Simply the unspoken
predicate to a sentence
we utter from rote
memory as we
run hard against
the setting of the sun
and trust to what
we once thought
someone may have
said, something
about destiny.


Patrick M. Tracy

7/3/12