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Blue-Collar Poetry
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LITTLE THINGS
By the end of my shift
Alls I wanna do, yall, is
Crack open a couple-a
Cold ones and get drunk,
So pardon poor quality.
By the end of my shift
Alls I wanna do, yall, is
Crack open a couple-a
Cold ones and get drunk,
So pardon poor quality.
Short, unvarnished, and wry;
Short, unvarnished, and wry; much like a quick word shared between coworkers at the end of a grueling shift.
It distills a working-class voice down to its bluntest truth: “Alls I wanna do... is / Crack open a couple-a / Cold ones.”
The poetic speaker owns their exhaustion and doesn’t dress it up. In fact, the closing line: “So pardon poor quality”
is a cheeky nod to the poem’s own rough edges, as if the poem apologizes for being a poem at all; that’s where the power lives.
This poem doesn't strive for perfection; it leans into the sweat, the slang, and the syntax of the shift floor.
It says, “Here I am, tired and tipsy, and this is still art.” There’s a subtle defiance in that simplicity.
The poetic speaker may be too beat down to wax lyrical, but the act of writing (even poorly) is a kind of claim to space, to voice, to survival.
Labourers of the world, Unite!
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
Wow, if someone told me I
Wow, if someone told me I would receive a comment at all on this little widget, let alone one as utterly spectacular as that, I wouldn't have believed it. But wow, thank you, that was a very nice way to begin this expectant night of no-sleep. Perhaps we can see how long our patterned chat may last, like last time?
peace, pot, tequila shot
Jesus loves us, stoned or not
That was fun! Yes, we should
That was fun! Yes, we should do that again
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
However my first fear would
However my first fear would be that I couldn't keep up, due to the vast gap I have of intellectual inferiority in comparing where we stand on the food-chain, and thereby either foolishly embarress myself like usual or reluctantly cower under the recognition of my surfaced stupidity. That being said, I suppose as a concept to conquer these qualms I can consider myself a student of sorts. The choice is yours.
peace, pot, tequila shot
Jesus loves us, stoned or not
Everything is not about
Everything is not about intellect but probably more about heart and passion in fusion with smarts of sorts
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver