Monday, April 6, 2015


Dreams of rocks and blocks and bricks
are broken by my aching back
but using some gymnastic tricks
out of bed with a creak, a crack.

Fingers' numbness is replaced
with sharpened pains of flexing them
the cement stings from skin's waste
it's time to do it all again.

The morning sun shows yesterday's
block still freshly placed and struck
Inspection of the joints and ways,
the arch is rising from the muck.

That first bag of mortar ripped
and dumped into the mixer
that first bucket of water tipped
and mixed is my elixir.

To overcome my whole inertia
and pick up block, and set 'em straight
will the paycheck reimburse ya?
When passion for building is my fate?

The work itself is not just all
that is its own just reward
it is, alas - just a wall
built by me, my just accord.

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