All through lunch Peter pinched at his crotch,
And Jesús talked about his tattoos,
And I let the flies crawl my arm, undisturbed,
Thinking it was wrong, a buck sixty five,
...
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the real poetry is conscience transcending what we make of moments -of events that it seems to us as real as it gets -we take them with us because we need them to be real -then conscience everlasting gets into a poem where the real thing is... you put it there in this poem my brother
Gary Soto takes us into the dark & dangerous world of work from his youth. The gritty, bleak mood & tone reminds me of John Steinbeck's 'In Dubious Battle'
the real poetry is conscience transcending what we make of moments -of events that it seems to us as real as it gets -we take them with us because we need them to be real -then conscience everlasting gets into a poem where the real thing is... you put it there in this poem my brother