Glass Factory

Glass Factory
by Doug Draime

For several months
every night
my grandfather
would fall asleep
sitting in front of the television
after dinner, which he would
just pick at and
never finish. Every night
he would
wake with a start
between 8 and 8:30,
his eyes blinking
open and shut
several times,
and scream,
“Watch out, Frank, the goddamn
sheet is slipping”
Referring to the 8 by 12 foot sheet
of glass that fell from a crane,
killing one of his crew at the glass factory,
where he’d worked
for over 30 years as a foreman.
I don’t remember when
he stopped screaming,
nor do I recall him
mentioning watching
his friend practically
sliced in two, and bleeding
to death
in his arms.

1 thought on “Glass Factory

  1. A personalized part of being a poet is to realize life from
    its core and to recognize story as part of one’s diary of
    recounting in verbal fashion the death of a loved one.Doug
    Draine reminds us of a provocative experience in his memory
    now part of our own.

Leave a Reply