Friday, April 3, 2015
I’ve two men—in my garden, working on my water
Pipe, you’d think it was the tomb of a millionaire—
Working on their knees, bending every-which-way
Running back and forth to get a part they forgot
Or thought they had and didn’t, or to replace and
Reclaim! All over a simple water pipe break!
Stabbing the earth to make a ditch—
The clay gleams brown, it’s Good Friday, and we
Had guests, they had to leave, no use of toilets!
The two men are driving their shovels, deeper and
Deeper into the ground, wiping sweat off their brows,
No hats, no bandannas, dirty sweatshirts—; plumber
I doubt they are, more like backyard mechanics:
Muckers who have done such kinds of work before.
They started at 7:00 a.m., its going on 7:00 p.m.
I think they’ll have to finish tomorrow, it’s getting dark!
“I know it’s a hell of a job,” and a job is a job and
They want to live, but twelve-hours, plus, I could have
Drank a keg of beer in my younger day and cleaned
The stalls of a dozen saloons. —the day is shot!
Tomorrow who knows what? I guess, when you hire
Muckers, you get what you pay for,—best to crisscross
Your fingers, and pray to God Almighty!
No: 4746/ April 3, 2015