Tailpipe
by M.L. Crider
November 2014
The rumble of the tailpipe
leaks its snot in spurts
drips on the cracked pavement
He revved the accelerator twice
to warm it
His fingers, winter bones
He breathed on them to thaw through his shirt
Nineteen degrees in December
Sun on the rise over the wheat
He had to work.
Humble are the ones
who trudge the thickest snow
who calculate the bridges' strength
when no one else will know
For you, for me, for him, for she
Humble gets a name
In anonymity; quiet invisibility
without, we would never be the same
The architect of a bridge
The mastermind of the overpass
These are the real keepers of worker bees and queens,
and of each of us in between
The local school line cook
feeding your cherished
they wake before the sun
no matter the weather
their duty never to perish
The Daily Heroes
their silent duty
Stitching and uniting this ubiquitous quilt
The rumble of the tailpipe
the spurts, the pavement drips
by M.L. Crider
November 2014
The rumble of the tailpipe
leaks its snot in spurts
drips on the cracked pavement
He revved the accelerator twice
to warm it
His fingers, winter bones
He breathed on them to thaw through his shirt
Nineteen degrees in December
Sun on the rise over the wheat
He had to work.
Humble are the ones
who trudge the thickest snow
who calculate the bridges' strength
when no one else will know
For you, for me, for him, for she
Humble gets a name
In anonymity; quiet invisibility
without, we would never be the same
The architect of a bridge
The mastermind of the overpass
These are the real keepers of worker bees and queens,
and of each of us in between
The local school line cook
feeding your cherished
they wake before the sun
no matter the weather
their duty never to perish
The Daily Heroes
their silent duty
Stitching and uniting this ubiquitous quilt
The rumble of the tailpipe
the spurts, the pavement drips
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