K-cars to bars, shots and beers,
union caps on disabled, abused
abusers, cigarette smoke

blue, yellow tin ceilings, it's
     always this bridge or that over orange
creeks or slate gray rivers.  Blame

it on bridges that straddle
twisted geography.   Smooth line, bus
line, bread line, 1906

Tube Works, rust thick as acrid
blood on the broken nose she touches,
looking at the photograph

of the Babushka, blinded
icon, like a holy card between
random pages of scripture.

Curse you for coming here.
Curse the rusted mettle.
Curse the fruit of thy womb.

William Stoddart
WILLIAM R. STODDART cut his teeth on the poetry of Daniel Mark Epstein and other, lesser known contemporary poets. His poetry has been published most recently by the e-zine Transference, a bilingual journal of poetry. Other publishing credits include The Writer, Loyalhanna Review, and The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Over the past forty years he has found numerous creative ways to play 5 chords on his acoustic guitar.