My hands have stopped feeling the cold,which the foreman calls an asset.Thirty winters outside will do that —teach the body to go quiet where it hurts.
I worry what else I've gone numb toon the long shift of just getting by.I warm my hands on the coffee anyway,out of a memory of warmth, not the fact of it.
About free versePoetry without a set rhyme scheme or regular meter, shaped by the poet.
Free verse has no fixed rhyme scheme or regular meter, so there is no rule to check it against. That does not mean it lacks craft. The poet chooses where lines break, how long they run, and what repeats, and those choices shape it.
Listen for Where each line ends, and how that break changes the way you hear it.
74 poems in this form →@dawit
Works the night shift so someone else's daylight gets easier.
7 poems · 3 readings received · 4 written · 1 follower
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