bus strike

•

1.

      in the gray daybreak light, outside
the polished brick and glass
          of transit commission headquarters,
 men and women holding signs
                staple-gunned to wood slats
    cluster around a fire flaring from
  a trash can, holding their hands
                                 toward the warmth,
  pace back and forth along the sidewalk,
       stand together in twos and threes
        and fours along the wall,
                      picket signs in their hands,
 their faces calm and unmoving,
        filled with the patience that outlived
  hauling stone blocks to build
                                     the pyramids, alive
    with the will that toppled
                      the empire of rome.
   along the edges of buildings
     the last ice of winter
               sticks to the sidewalks.
          a couple of cars go by, then
                      nothing for a while, the streets
        nearly empty, the air
                          nearly silent,
                     in the early morning.

2.

     the first morning, walking to work,
 at the south edge of downtown the pond
                 still half-frozen in loring park,
       7 a.m., chilly gray light, patches
  of snow linger on the grass.
      almost within reach traffic
    hammers along below the footbridge
       on hennepin avenue. away
  from the street in the park, i follow
             the deserted walking path.
  at the far end of the pond
     a 40-year-old man jogging
                             in dark blue, up ahead
   a woman with a yellow backpack
disappears around the corner of a building.
   from between two pine trees
                    huge and ghost-shaped
          it floats into view, then flattens out,
   cloud-gray, mist-white,, beak hooked,
a hawk,
            underside streaked
                           with darker gray, eyes
                                   defiant, cool with amber,
              wings fanned out full, drifts
       low above the footpath, thirty feet
                                          in front of me,
            stunned silent winter mirage,
 and glides off across the park
           among the bare oaks out of sight.

3.

      on t.v., walking from his car
  to his office, the governor,
           his face young, boylike,
      grinning at the cameras as for
                   the high school class picture,
           has little to say about the strike,
     says the contract offer charging
           a family of four $800 a month for
                                          medical insurance
                  is the final offer, is on
          his way to a meeting, has told
        legislators he wants more money,
            $12 million, $20 million, $60 million, to
         enlarge state prisons and
                      the state police force.
   on t.v., glancing at the camera lights,
the governor shifts from one foot
             to the other, spreads
     his arms at his sides, hands
       empty, palms facing forward,
                  chuckles briefly with reporters
   and then shrugs his shoulders
        in a characteristic gesture,
                         before going indoors.

4.

   a little warmer this morning, the snow
 all gone, the rising light bright
               on the buildings of downtown,
     i walk up nicollet, one of
        the steady moving dozen and hundred
                                                   and hundred
working out way on foot along the streets,
   near a corner two men standing
           with picket signs, in
        winter jackets, one around fifty,
   hair graying, sharp chin, small
                                   sharp eyes,
                  face pink in the chilly air,
    the other past forty, a little taller,
                      round-jawed, eyes quiet,
                                     wearing glasses,   
     they talk quietly together, the strike
   continues, calm and resolute,
                             standing together,
  with our hands and feet laying
         the bricks of the daylight,
     with our hands and feet
         marking the first roads of spring.