The Builder
Poem for the Working Class
Dec 31, 2023
The old carpenter winces
It’s the shoulder again
Thrown out by lifting
Boards up, up skyward
Constant grind, bending the boards
To house the content, corporate culture
The ones with jobs that really matter
Cabinets of pain
The carpenter still strong of arm
And legs that climb heavenward
Even as his lungs fill
With contaminants and shards of siding
He knows that really
He can’t become old
Find himself under a bridge
A watcher of buildings, man of houses
With no house of his own
A man who built hospitals
Can’t see a doctor
He feeds the alley cat and understands its place
A stray himself, unwanted
He picks up the small, furry deity
An angel, true to form
Lost love to a starved soul
