Road Crew


Eight of them rock from the balls of their feet

to the heels of their feet on the side of the road

while a ninth takes a spade and arranges the grit

at the edge of the patch of the hole in the road

while a tenth shifts a gear on a bulldozer high

on the shoulder and yawns and the boss holds a phone

to his ear and his hard hat's pushed up on that side

and the flagmen apart take the stares from the cars

standing bare in the road unconcealed in the crew

and the pickup-men drive with an arm in the sun

to and fro back and forth up and down through the glare

of the light on the lines and the waves of the heat

and the work never ends and it scarcely goes on

but the stances and shiftings and even the orange

of the vests that will never reach beltlines again,

all are beautiful. Look at them. Look at them. Look.


Philip Krummrich