Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2018  Vol. 17 No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Swooping through Broken Windows

A few frayed threads, but hardly the worse for wear,
last century’s jacket is slicked with the salt air.
Where it was made they don’t make things anymore.

No worker’s pay cut or the manager’s plea
could budge the addition in the spreadsheet.
Water took the lease, signed the walls with spores.

Now every spring the swallow chicks open wide
for the squirming their parents bring. What kind
of work did the hands that turned the lining find?

Did her children finish school? Start it? The wind
and rain slap at the jacket. I’m dry inside.