Sledgehammer
the old man in his frayed shirt and
thick glasses sitting in the sagging
lawn chair pointing out the seams
in the rock with his finger missing the
last joint and saying put the wedge
here
so we did
—the rhythm of the hammer
the weight coming back around
over down
the blow lands sharp
the fall the carry-through
and starting
over
and over for a week or more
a dollar an hour
hard hands breaking rocks
in yes the hot sun or under
some insignificant clouds
the dull thuds and clanks
the woods around buzzing with insects
after whittling
down the boulders in the ground we
loaded the pieces into wheelbarrows
pushed them out into the light of
weekdays and pounded them to gravel
for his truck to drive on
I had to have some shirtlessly
earned money for something probably
beer and cigarettes and a little weed I
was young and green as grass
I did learn how to swing a hammer though
with rhythm and without working
myself to
death
Like that rhythm you got going on there. Nice.
Thanks.
Manual labor....I've done it. I appreciate it. I'm glad I don't have to do as much of it now.
Same here!
Still seems like back breaking work to me!
It is. But I was young, and, as the poem says, green as grass. So I could handle it.
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