Ripped jeans, steel toes. The Son my Father would love rides the subway half asleep in the early morning. Veiny hands, small cuts, paint on his jacket. Old gym bag to carry his tools for he has no belt no toolbox no truck. The five o’clock shadow of Monday still hanging on to Thursday. Cigarette in ear, dreaming of the truck he wants but thinking of the girl he likes, the next tattoo, his Friday. Perhaps the truck will be bought in summertime when the work is plenty. Last swig of coffee mingling with last night’s whiskey as the iron horse takes the steel man to his metal job.
Alan is a substitute teacher working out of Toronto, Canada. He tries to keep his writing honest by only writing about what he sees, but if he's being (really) honest, he actually makes a lot of it up. Alan has printed two short story collections and a novel; they sit anonymously on his bookshelf... A poetry collection is his next project. When Alan isn’t writing, he’s either walking his blind Miniature Pinscher, riding his bike, or drinking a tea with his girlfriend. To comment on Alan’s work, whether good or bad, use firstname.lastname@example.org.
POETS'S INSPO CHOICE: Metal — INGEBAR