Home » Poem » The Real Iron Man

The Real Iron Man

THE REAL IRON MAN

He has an iron hand,
full of wait of coal
burnt almost like a cave man
lifting the weight of a person’s dirt
and pressing it over to its core
so the next time an ironed
shirt is worn, it smells of sun
charged like solar flares, flat
creases transfigured into sweaty
white vest, coal vanished now,
the iron hand tired but awaiting
a new day of the weights of its world

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s