USA

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Sonnet For The Day Laborer.

Sunday morning, where the streamers are down,
wasn't there a party there? and wasn't 
God, with infallible dustlike polite-
ness, there too? Only the river, with its
elastic arms, reaches out and pulls these
picture-frames from the wreck, and we survive in
the way these images, as big as clouds,
become allusions to other Sundays?
chains on, dancing in the sun, we plow through
party after party, new wheatfields, and
wrens breaking the ease of a long day's work.

The faucet on, the ants don't trouble the 
pool as it rises with a glow I've seen
but cannot quell:
The water writes in waves.

© All Copyright, 7/11/99, Scott Nichols.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.