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Labor Pool Workers
Jacksonville, Florida
by Barbara Southard
They start arriving before light, climb
into vans, fan out through the city
to dig holes, scrape paint off ships, clean out
toxic tanks in the mills—lesions roiling up
on scarred skin, misshapen hands—
caustic chemicals, blistering heat
—indecipherable faces darkened by sun.
From four in the afternoon until eight,
they roll in, spill out of vans, pick up
their day’s pay
—bandaged hand, bent back, favored foot—
They spider out along 8th Street, make their way
home, catch some sleep, then back before light
—each day, new faces mixed with old—
mixture of sweat, muscle and bone.