The cold tears of ghosts <br />fall upon the garbage-strewn <br />alleys of Ossuary while <br />gaunt die-casters stumble through <br />the furious damp morning. <br /> <br /> <br />Last month, Rigidized Metals bolted <br />its doors. Five hundred lives suddenly <br />became irrelevant. Anaconda Brass <br />went bankrupt, leaving unpaid bills and <br />children's dreams kicked and scattered <br />like empty beer cans in the gutters <br />of Little Poland. <br /> <br /> <br />Today, thick plywood covers Kujawski <br />Die Casting's windows. Men now jobless <br />huddle in packs outside the factory. <br /> <br /> <br />Their hearts are rags. <br />They stink of fear. <br /> <br /> <br />Their fists clutch dented <br />steel lunchpails as they gaze with <br />cavernous eyes at the twin brown <br />smokestacks, now and forever <br />shorn of their billowing grey clouds.<br /><br />David Kowalczyk<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/march-rains-ossuary-new-york/
