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More poems by Sylvia PlathSylvia Plath | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Sylvia PlathBooks by Sylvia Plath

Night Shift

Sylvia Plath

It was not a heart, beating. 
That muted boom, that clangor 
Far off, not blood in the ears 
Drumming up and fever 

To impose on the evening. 
The noise came from outside: 
A metal detonating 
Native, evidently, to 

These stilled suburbs nobody 
Startled at it, though the sound 
Shook the ground with its pounding. 
It took a root at my coming 

Till the thudding shource, exposed, 
Counfounded in wept guesswork: 
Framed in windows of Main Street's 
Silver factory, immense 

Hammers hoisted, wheels turning, 
Stalled, let fall their vertical 
Tonnage of metal and wood; 
Stunned in marrow. Men in white 

Undershirts circled, tending 
Without stop those greased machines, 
Tending, without stop, the blunt 
Indefatigable fact. 


Submitted by Venus

Added: 12 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 23 Jan 2018 8:49 PM | Viewed: 11109 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/6167/ | Viewed on 23 January 2018.
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