Ice Handler

My God it's hot out there. Here's a poem for right now from Carl Sandburg.


Ice Handler

I KNOW an ice handler who wears a flannel shirt with
      pearl buttons the size of a dollar,
And he lugs a hundred-pound hunk into a saloon ice-
      box, helps himself to cold ham and rye bread,
Tells the bartender it's hotter than yesterday and will be
      hotter yet to-morrow, by Jesus,
And is on his way with his head in the air and a hard
      pair of fists.
He spends a dollar or so every Saturday night on a two
      hundred pound woman who washes dishes in the
      Hotel Morrison.
He remembers when the union was organized he broke
      the noses of two scabs and loosened the nuts so the
      wheels came off six different wagons one morning,
      and he came around and watched the ice melt in the
      street.
All he was sorry for was one of the scabs bit him on the
      knuckles of the right hand so they bled when he
      came around to the saloon to tell the boys about it.