End of shift at the
fiberglass factory
The workers glint in glass each afternoon
as if Rapunzel draped them in her hair
before they sauntered past my window, soon
to wash the glitter strands from face and hands.
They leave in crystal, eager to be gone
and plain again; parade before my stare
like mythic beasts of silica and bone
who shed their glassy scales as daylight fails.