Welcome to Poetically Yours. Poetically Yours showcases poems by northern Illinois poets. This week’s featured poet is Terry Loncaric.
Loncaric lives in Hampshire, Illinois. She said she has three lives: a poet, a journalist, and an educator. And these lives collide through her poetry. Loncaric wrote two poetry books, “Crashing in Velvet” for Finishing Line Press, and most recently, “Poetry in an Age of Panic” for Kelsay Books. She also hosts a monthly open mic of original songs and poetry at Stage Left Cafe in Woodstock. Today’s poem is about Loncaric’s father. It’s called “The Steelworker.”
The Steelworker
Flannel shirt, long johns,
heavy trousers,
he knew, if he “layered” himself,
he could somehow survive
the bone-crushing cold
of the Gary steel mills.
Once he was struck
by a massive steel hook,
his short, barrel-chested body
buoyant enough to escape a death blow.
In the clanging, belching steel mills,
my fathered disappeared
into the soupy filth
of a grinding daily routine,
kept his sense of humor
sharing stories of co-workers
with strange nick-names and secrets.
I still remember the man who fell asleep,
awakened in a panic
to twitching whiskers, beady eyes,
quickly shook off the hungry teeth
of an overly plump rat.
My father saw it all,
a non-descript co-worker
who slipped into women’s lingerie
at the end of his shift,
a lottery winner who lost every cent
to messy relationships,
a beatnik who once studied psychology.
Years of accumulated grittiness
hunched over my father like a blanket
of thick fog on an unforgiving Gary night.
A determined little man,
an immigrant son
of tough Croatian stock, my father
kept chipping away 40 years
at this mind-numbing daily routine
so we, his privileged children,
would never have to suffer
though filthy, exhausting work.
