They wore thick sweaters and their feet dragged 

with their heavy combat boots,

stumbling over empty liquor bottles,

envying the teenagers who emptied them

the building was powder pink guarded 

only by trampled fences and

the “no trespassing” notice may as well

have been a front-facing “open” sign

tacked to the battered, lockless doors

the graffiti spoke of hell and sex—

pamphlets reading “Jesus for President”

carpeted the godless cement 

whereas the old workers

were likely somewhere in between

he wrapped his arms around

her tightly– a temporary furnace

for the drab March weather,

scheduled to burn out in

early May at the latest

they were less than professors and 

more than university students– some sort

of unhappy medium coughing up statistics

about globalization that they couldn’t calculate

themselves, non-union workers who spread

the gospel of Jane McAlevey, and

watching Roger & Me on Friday nights

he gently turned her towards the rusted

hydraulic press and as she bowed her head,

her eyes fell on a lone leather glove,

whispering warnings of another departure.

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Alex LeGrys is 23 years old and received her bachelor’s degree in sociology from Bard College.  Her work has appeared in Apricity Press, Better than Starbucks, The Whistling Shade, Bonfire Lit, Blue Lake Review, and Flora Fiction.