Blue Collar Poetry: January 15-22, 2026
In honor of one of our very own Artpocalypsers, who will be celebrating her new published collection of poetry at a book launch held on this assignment’s due date: Write a poem from the perspective of a blue collar worker - about their life, some aspect of their job, or a related subject. Bonus points if your poem helps elicit a distinct sense of place.
The Submissions:
by Journal Kurtz
After Swing Shift
We go to Elmer’s [or Mickey’s or The
Grill] on the corner of Family and Mill.
We cash in paychecks for perch [or
wings or dogs and kraut] that comes on
plates pinky-finger thick, ringed with
the blue of steel tempered at 580
degrees. We throw in money for the
football pool [or the picnic or Phil’s
family] and fold the rest into weathered
wallets. We drink our Stroh’s [or
Genny or Schlitz] slow so that we have
something to show come morning.
And Larry [or Neil or Frank] serves the
beer on corrugated coasters cut from
boxes of pickles [or olives or pickled
eggs]. Our hands a perfect curl from
gripping a sledge [or a shaft or a glass]
for hours. The dust in our knuckles
oxidizes to rust, maps the work of the
open hearth [or roller mill or furnace].
The jukebox plays The Stones [or CCR
or nothing] as we talk about bowling
[or bait or whether Phil’s wife will
move after the funeral]. Or we argue
about the same. And we leave at 2:00
[or 5:00 or stay until 7:00 and tell our
wives we worked a double].
from the collection, Slag, by Aimee
Noel
by Anonymous Frau Redux
Inside the lunch box
With Wrigley’s Doublemint gum-
Hints of salami
Waxed paper crinkles,
Sandwiches packed for break time,
Apples and baked goods.
Hue of graphite tar
Years of being the “mix” man
Work clothes to match too
Old jeans stained and patched
Long sleeved shirts to protect skin
What about the lungs?
Asbestos X-rays
Years of monitoring films
Then “the plant” closed down
Through back injury
Lifting the fifty pound sacks,
Among other things
Driving sixty miles
Round trip for the twelve hour shifts
Up hill, in the snow
Buffalo suburbs
The snow and hill are no joke
Front wheel drive donuts
In reverse, Tops lot
Blue collar education
After my work hours
The ‘83 dodge
First new car he ever bought
We loved that lemon
Retired golden years
The oxygen- a tether
He says, “Don’t get old.”
Stable provider
Blue collar life exposure
Be/do good, pays bills.
Pic for reference of the lunch box Dad used going to the “plant.”
Next Week’s Assignment:
With most of us in the path of Winter Storm Fern, this week’s assignment is to make art from snow. We’ll keep this wide open - sculptures made of snow, snow men, art made IN snow, snow melted to use in inks… whatever you like.