ALEX CHOATE - TRAIN CONDUCTOR          CONSIDERS THE FIRST MORNING SHIFT            I have reflected before            on the irony of my position            with a full complement            of fare paying passengers            I alone exist here without destination            even the driver has his schedule            and a final station            I am paid to have none            but dispense from my black bag            a pragmatic interest in distance            and journey's end            mine will always be            a terminal preoccupation            I exist between sections            and stations            when the engine stops then so do I            it is not occasioned by arrival            or departure            but movement and the slide of wheels            I am a constant            in that timetable            which moves on but is always the same. 10

ROOF TILER            High and lifted up - first light robes him in a sash of gold,            while all around on a hot floor of yellow rafted air the            day's employment lies stacked in the patterned precision            of his labour. Baked black and thin, the tiles soften            in the morning's trick of fire into piles of holy scripture            awaiting some faithful multitude to prayer.            Small blue orisons of smoke from a first cigarette            become the sky, as he begins to move these pieces            into the ritual arrangement of his practice. The scrape            and scratch, the dull snap of engagement. Shirtless            he stands in the late afternoon and meditates on            sudden idleness. Complete. Another smoke - while            his eyes move after the exercise of his hands            and glaze the seamless finish of his work. 77