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blck a lung office James Owens Chest caving on its twin sacks of dust, Stoop of a forty-inch seam ground into his knees, Permanent in the hang of his shoulders, X-rays layered with others in a file The government chews slowly. “Waiting For us to die first, you damn well know it,” He takes in the packed room with a wave, The bad hand caught in a loader years ago. He winks to add, “So to hell with me, right?” His number. The skeptical doctor. From down In the mine, a cough like something torn. He turns, prays into the reddened cloth.
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Sep 27, 2008
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