The Blue Collar Review is a quarterly journal of poetry and prose published by Partisan Press. Our mission is to expand
and promote a progressive working class vision of culture that inspires us and that moves us forward
as a class. The work presented is only a sampling from the magazine. Subscriptions are $15.00 yearly, or $7.00 for a single issue. Subscribe using the on-line link or send checks to Partisan Press P.O. 11417 Norfolk, VA 23517.
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First Lesson
He taught me to weld, how to melt metal to metal,
how to cut plate steel as thick as a thumb
and leave only a ripple resembling a scar,
how to clamp down on the arc, pulsing with power
like a bolt of pure energy some demon might wield.
I recalled Greek myth, the kid stories I devoured
about heroes and failure, when my arc simply slipped
down a few inches and burned through the black glove
right down to a nail: my middle finger poked through
with a neat hole, and a smell like burnt hair, almost sweet.
My uncle stood over me, grinning again; in the din
of the factory he spoke precisely, in German,
one word that I knew and knew in my bones;
"Caution," he said, but the word sounds like "Foresight:
Look ahead when you toil, look out but not back."
Dave Iasevoli
On-the-Job Training
It used to be good here, Myrna says,
time-and-a-half, double holidays.
It's my first week, so I nod my head,
hoping to make rent, see my kids again.
Myrna says her kids came from the same
no-good-never-handed-her-a-dime
didn't-ever-want-to-see-his-kids --
now he's in the ground.
And she looks at me like I could be him
so I smile and tell her I just fell hard
on hard-luck times. That I want to
help their mama with bills
but a man can only do so much.
You can't bleed a turnip,
she says and I agree. Then Myrna turns on me:
But you can dig a hole, throw in the seed.
She rolls her sleeves, grabs two brooms.
I barely have a handle as she sweeps circles around me.
Straight time and toting dirt, she says,
better than waiting for a root to bleed.
Jodi Barnes
We're Not Going to the Waiting Room The State of Virginia recently passed legislation requiring ultrasounds
and a waiting period for women seeking abortion. More invasive ultrasounds as well as defining life as beginning at conception were defeated.
They think they can trash us into waiting –
about taking time to think and feel what's right
they think they can teach us wrong and right and their limits
I can't swallow that baseball bat
because to them
being a woman is about waiting on them and waiting for blood to go and come – for us its waiting for justice and intellect and raw courage and
to rise out of the swamps
or ride over the horizon
on what horse or barefoot
we're waiting for them to surprise US – telling them nicely
win/whine situations waiting for them to
let us into a living wage.
let us not wait for the decision to live with air and water --
we've been waiting for the kids we push out of our bodies
or the ones we didn't have society taught us to care for
because it was our job and WE TRY . . . waiting for boys 2 men who talk late, never, too much or
just badly waiting for preachers to tell us
how long we must wait and where – for what waiting
for them to "help" us decide how we'll spend the next
twenty or thirty years and the health
of our crotch   or the planet waiting without food, fuel, medicine, safe work,
or education NOW
Its about IN FOR MAY SHUN not waiting the ocean is roaring beside us she says
detain the government
make everyone wait who legally squats
in your guts, puts spigots and plugs
in your orifices and futures and
always discriminates further with regard
to color, sex and affection
and MUN EED NESS show them videos of their victims
give THEM the movie rights for a multiple feature
of dead women walking, not alone, no place to hide,
life isn't beautiful anymore, do the wrong thing,
wag the cat, I mean do we want big prisons or
panty-sized ones? We could
get re-education matrons to do the counseling Someone needs to be locked out
of the decision when to breed or breath
Women know how to think about wrong and right
and when as well as men
Women know how to wait. We've got to STOP THAT SHIT!
Mary Franke
Entitlement Mentality
Stop the entitlement mentality,
the man said,
and I wondered what he meant.
Perhaps he was talking about upward mobility,
and the way American kids expect
to do better than their parents
Or maybe he meant education,
and the way teachers prepare children
to go to college
As if parents should raise their children
to accept their lot in life
and teachers should prepare students
for mediocrity and a career in fast food.
I know he didn't mean the banker
or the corporate executive
with his hand out,
for a bailout
But he may have meant the single mother
buying milk and eggs
with WIC
Or the dark skinned man
in the emergency room
who is bleeding
but has no money.
Stop the entitlement mentality,
the man said,
and I fear he is talking
about human compassion
Or perhaps the progress
of generations past who fought for rights
that their children and grandchildren
might have a better life.
Sir, what is this entitlement mentality
you speak of?
David W. Roberts
One Percents
This place of my employment is
a microcosm of the country.
We 99% show up every day to
do the bidding so the 1% can
write us off.
These cheap petty bastards who
demand a parking space --
eat catered lunches and
wear designer clothes on 'dress down day.'
They who continually send memos
stating that 'although we had another
record quarter, we must still tighten
our belts in the woeful economic times.'
This while writing themselves holiday
bonus checks in the amount of a
99%er's yearly income.
These, the same assholes who are . . .
rude to waitresses and threaten to have
valet parkers fired.
Who consider animals just pets and
have nannies raise their children.
For them, there is always time to
give reprimand, but never time to praise.
In their mansions and penthouses . . .
how do they sleep?
S.A. Gerber
"The Empire is Incomprehensible" . . . no matter
what crackling pain and anger
you carry in your fists, my friend,
it should break your heart to kill.
-- Brian Turner
We lie to ourselves
and talk of The Greater Good
when our polished boots
walk amidst slaughter and blood.
It should break our hearts --
it should
but our murderous joy
continues to rise
while our unbroken hearts demand
kill or be killed.
Our fists wrap around not swords
but the guns we so admire.
Empire: incomprehensible indeed
and we embedded
up to our necks within it.
R. Yurman
Cardinal
To live as cardinal lives,
limb to limb, berry to berry,
to open the silk purse of the throat,
to whip the air and green trees
with a red flame of song,
crest and beak wedged against
the tough nut of this world:
Give me the seed, I hunger.
Give me the light, I long to see.
Give me the spare wealth of flowers,
I mock your pawning finger,
your grasping palm,
the recoiling butt of your rifle,
your exploding jackets of hate.
I visit your yard at dawn and dusk
to welcome the sun and put it to bed again.
Between these dark brackets I bleed:
I see a missile cruising toward
the core of your heart,
I feel a shudder of a savage hand
yet to come,
I fear the silent shadowy wing suddenly
breasting the tree tops one calm,
sunny morning in the park,
I lash you ear like
a black-masked prophet
praying madly from his perch in a tree.