the man
behind the plow,
the man on the roof,
the woman
with her hammer,
her iron,
her apron on.
the night workers.
the late shift.
the early risers.
the thirty year men.
nose to the grindstone.
standing at the factory machine.
we admire
the dirt, the crust of them.
the bloodshot eyes,
the broken fingers,
the bent backs.
we admire the over time,
the weekends,
those that push
through the heat of summer,
the ice of winter,
those that will themselves
forward, those who will
never lack.
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