The summer heat in Ypsi pounds my back
drumming notes of sweat into my clothes.

My song of labor for all to see.
Yes, I did it. Yes, this is me.

How my muscles contract and move in time,
One, two, trash
One, two, trash
Picking up trash is my dance agony.

A dancing soldier-I step and I bleed.
I look up at the sun-my source of melody.

The sun is my musicbox
-my tune and my clock.
I cannot stop dancing until the sun stops.