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for Ramon Elouza
.
Close-ups in an eye-level lineup,
His photographed faces hung on their wall,
Each behind lines of writing,
well I lost my job my wife and about to lose
my home because of the shut down
The testaments part of the portraiture,
Each background story fronted
In its signature cursive scrawl.
no one wants to hire me because I am a steel worker
made too much money working at the mill
It must have felt like they were filling out
Yet one more requisite form
To be filed away with their folders.
my spouse has supported the household since
my layoff & ran out of unemployment funds
The harshness of the colors part of the portraits
As well, as if they’d been developed
In some brownfield seep,
loss of wife & family, loss of friends,
loss of self-respect & esteem
Some bath of acids in which the features
Have been set, flesh and bone—
Each wheal of iris, each pupil’s black hole.
Copyright 2018 Robert Gibb
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