Punches Full of Peace
by Fred Voss
Fist-knocks
have replaced handshakes
in this machine shop
instead of squeezing palms we hold out fists
and bump knuckles in the air
between us
I guess it is a way to say we are ready to fight
but won’t
our knuckles
that could break teeth wanting only
to squeeze wrenches
hold granddaughters
rub
across the drawers of our toolboxes full of decades of machinist skill
keeping a roof
over our head
we know
there is always the chance a man
going through a divorce
an eviction
a memory of the cries of the man he had to kill in Vietnam
or Iraq
will find his guts gripped so hard inside him by fear and rage he can’t stop his fist
from busting the jaw of the man
at the next machine
and cracking his own life
in two
and so
we come in each morning and knock fists and smile and say,
“Good morning!”
like we have won a great victory
we pass each other in the aisles and knock fists
smoothly as the turning of the gears of our machines
putting sons
through college
saving daughters
from cancer
our fathers may have shaken hands
but that was when good union jobs bought them houses with 2-car garages
and no one knew
the polar icecaps could melt
as Trump tried to steal the presidency
and so
we throw slow-motion punches that end in knuckle taps
instead of punches
and grin
turning to our machines gripping hammers
like they hold together
the world.
Phones Full of Tomorrows
by Fred Voss
Gregory
has heard that the Vice Presidents and President in the office are unhappy
with the new lathe operators
“They’re only putting out 80% production
They’re looking at their smart phones all the time,” Gregory says to me
the new lathe operators are all young
brothers
or friends from the same East L.A. neighborhood
wear the same type hoodies
walk the same talk the same cut their goatees the same
laugh and knock fists and sing happy birthday
to each other and blow out birthday cake candles as their lathes sit idle and talk
about inflation and skyrocketing rents making it hard to survive
in L.A. and stare at their smart phones
I hope
on their phones they are reading about how to save
the rainforests and melting polar ice shelves and how baristas
and warehousemen and teachers and delivery truck drivers are forming unions to keep roofs
over their heads
I hope they don’t let their lathes sit idle
because they are lazy
but because they know
butterflies are disappearing and lions
may soon no longer roar at the stars and trees
are more important than car races
and skyscrapers
and a birthday cake candle sometimes worth more
than a billionaire’s Cadillac
I hope their phones show them a world full of people
with one heartbeat
one moon
one sun
one cry at birth and tear over gravestone and miracle
of rose and waterfall and Mona Lisa smile
I hope someday they can make their lathe chucks spin and turn down parts
for windmills
full of clean energy for their grandchildren
and the company vice presidents and presidents understand it is okay for workers to slow down
if it means trees
can grow taller
“Don’t worry,”
I want to tell Gregory
“It’s okay if those young guys
take their hands off their machine handles for a while
if they can pick up phones
that show us the way
to a better life.”
