tagNon-Erotic PoetryTriangle Shirtwaist Factory

Triangle Shirtwaist Factory


Maryann "feckin' oirishes" pushcarts
To dicker for some day old kale
And pullet eggs, two pennies saved
For hot cross buns on Sunday.

No Bowery bum, I look for work
And eat my oats at five a.m.
Like all the milk cart horses do
Whose shite I've shoveled once or twice
Not far from Greene and Washington
Where Da he works from dawn to five
And got a job for Maryann
At the shirtwaist factory.

Staying warm Chrissakes till March
Would make me dream of girls again,
Although I would not tell the priest
Whose church on Sunday warms my feet
Sweet Jaysuz ten degrees at least.

But dreams one time were little more
Than blue moods drafted before birth
Of footprints on a dirt packed floor
In a County Galway shack.
They say this doesn't stink as much
With smells like Mother's soda bread
Whose songs I hear at half past ten
Unless she says the rosary.

We're told to take a walk uptown
While Mother gets the ride tonight,
For Da brought home some pay today,
And Maryann will work next week
At the shirtwaist factory.

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bygreenmountaineer© 2 comments/ 1435 views/ 0 favorites

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