Peach-faced men, brushed with hard labor,white pails at their feet, hope turning gray,meet the eyes of the hardscrabble staringat them, mouths agape, blood filling veins,skeleton faces, scarred and awaiting death,looking yonder, the steam whistle quiet now.There, beneath a baking sun, locomotive hot,shadows no more than reincarnated ghosts,the cars start to empty, save the last one,jammed... Continue Reading →