Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE STRIKER, by ELIZABETH HARDY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE STRIKER, by                    
First Line: Now we have struck and the strike is won for all
Last Line: Streamer of smoke across the endless sky!
Subject(s): Labor Unions; Strikes; Labor Disputes; Lockouts


Now we have struck and the strike is won for all,
All but me; I am the lone fatality.
It was purely and accident, they say.
Purely or impurely, what do I care?
Such a question belongs to the unimportant
Side of death. I have one that is vital
And insensate, eternity to make up my mind,
Whether I am a hero or a martyr.
It's hard to tell; sometimes they're both the same
And which I am might be the other, were I
Another man. For months we had heard of the heroes,
Some with names like the speech my mother and father
Used at home in the evenings, men who would be remembered
Forever because they had fought for the rights of other
Men. I believed and fought but the only ones
Who remember are my wife and children,
Whose looks make riddles of rights to food and clothes.
Nothing was said about accidents or death.
Life, the scientists tell us, is an accident,
But it seemed very real. At dusk the smoke from the factory
Smeared the sunset but I knew that, behind,
The colors were clear. That is, they were until
The last night. Then smoke began to come from men's mouths
And spread over everything. The leaders talked
Till there was neither colors nor horizon,
Only smoke. The man beside me grew restless.
Things we knew changed faces and merged into
One another. We, too, were moving. The weight and rhythm
Of feet rolled against my mind too persistently.
I had to get rid of them. I swung my fists
At a man coming toward me, and -- Here I am
With this question, hero or martyr? An eternal
Streamer of smoke across the endless sky!





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