the morning sun was a
hot hammer on my bowed head
as I swung the pick to
break apart the rocky earth
the toil inspired only sweat
sopping brows that spilled over
into my stinging eyes
over my sunburned nose that
dripped onto the soil
perspiration sealed my clothes
clinging to my corpus
stifled by the very air
that baked the landscape everywhere
but then a silver cloud shrouded the sun
and i looked up to that turquoise sky
and a cool breeze chilled my sweat
giving good feelings for my mind to wander by
so i laid that pickaxe on the ground
the boss’s calls were muffled by the wind
i walked to the well and drew cold water
to cool my sandpaper tongue
wash the grit from my teeth
i found a shade tree a way off to sit beneath
and watched the clouds
and listened to the approaching horses’ whinny
before I fell asleep
No comments:
Post a Comment