Mixer Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Mixer

Mixer of concrete has fountain
It spits in frames, makes steps
In the cold and the gust
Two men work with trowels.

Three men in windows first floor
Have buckets of glue, blue tapes
They pamper the frames, insulate,

Tapes they use are blue and in rolls
Thin and sharp, and brown the paper
This layer separates, protects.

Tapes stick on frames, paper goes
It flies in the air, free kites
In the gust of outside.

A kite lands and sticks to cement
And then fight:
"Keep papers to yourself…"
Say the men at steps…

Both groups are labours
Others take benefit
Give orders.

I observe while amused
I think and have questions:
The dog-fight, and cock-fight
And even the wildest
Scorpions, gladiators
And fights of Mafia
World wars one, and two
To the Sinai's and Sanaa's
Aleppo's and the past
And much more, with soldiers.

Whose blood and whose life?
And whom for?
Simple dies for corrupt?
For people like Trump?