Monday, June 20, 2011

Little Poem for a Big Man


Dad, Workin’
Bent down, bent-over shoulders
hooked back
raising up, lugging in, heaving out
still
Broke
Those busted up fingers all swelled
From the ink and the roots
and wire and cutters
sand paper really does sound like hands
on a tired old chest from North Carolina
that you rub down
some life you round out
like yours
getting smoother now

add milk paint
make a few bucks

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