Handle bricks long enough
your hands grow
the dust embedded

Grandpa’s hands
with a coat that clings
cheap labor from Italy

But not his son
his hands blackened
from the newsprint

Night postal clerk
on his ride home
collects newspapers

one generation from dust
to newsprint – father
but less Italian – the hands

Next generation – the sons
schooled and schooled
become professors at N.Y.U.

the sons are Americans
their hands smooth yet
tired from turning pages

the sons will have children
hands almost unseen
only fingers pressing keys