When a mason works solo

The seventh bag of mortar seemed

easier than the first few until I stabbed

the tip of my crusty trowel into

the conspiring enemy of my lower back

with apparent rage that surprised me.

80 pounds and sounds of ripping dust

spilled into the barrow and water slaked

chopping the mud with a contempt filled

hoe but I know the worst part will be

cleaning up alone tired and bruised.

Tender, I wish I had a tender now.