workers on the side of the road
wait for workers on the construction site
to drop
so waiting workers can take the job of injured workers.

workers feeding on the bones of workers
who are feeding on scraps
after the greedy executives and the corrupt union leaders  
split the big money.

this is the fate of workers since the dawn of history
Bertolt Brecht writes in A Worker Reads History.
my co-workers don’t know Brecht,
they know:
the unforgiving sun.
the back breaking work on the construction site.
the pointy shoes and diamond pinky ring of the straw boss.
the coffee truck lady with big tits and stale donuts.
the unfairness of working hard all day as hod carriers
while the heavy machine workers just wait in the shade.                                           
the corruption of the construction workers local  
which I refuse to join until work conditions improve.
    
the union and construction company sleep together.
the union leader with bullet holes on the side of his car
hints I will sleep with the fishes                                                       
if I do not join the hod carriers union.
I do not join the union.

for my punishment:
I get no water breaks.
pay two cents to children for thimblefuls of cloudy hot water
am careful starting my car when I punch out.
am subject to daily harassment by huge black and Polish union muscle
who watch me all day in an air conditioned truck
with a hula dancer on the dashboard who mocks me with graceful moves
as I struggle to lift 150 pound steel forms in the swamp.
my body strains but does not break in places I never think it can go
I do not join the union.

I am a union man-not a corrupt union man.
my body far from breaking -is in the best condition
it will ever be since my future is one of soft jobs
 in law, writing and teaching.
my body  goes  to the hell of white collar life where
there is no union.

I will never forget the unforgiving days in the sun.
the time Stan, the failed professional boxer,
chops off the tip of his right index finger
and blood shoots out of his finger like a red volcano.
I try to stop the bleeding and take Stan to the hospital but he declines. 

Stan was dropped plenty in the ring
but refuses to drop on the construction site and: 
miss a days’ work;
let a scab on the roadside take his job;
accept help from a scab like me.

the only construction worker who calls him Stan,
not “Canvas Back Pollack”
but Stan is afraid to accept help from me because
I do not join the union.