Wednesday, March 11, 2015

LAG

On a forlorn corner
several squat 
chalkfaced tuckpointers—each rolled

dolefully 
into his ample overalls—suspend 
momentarily 

as I bend 
and pass—

their monumental undertaking
to squander 
and hoard 

and move back 
and forth 
various

clay colored barrowfulls
of barrow 
coloed clay and mortar—to presumably 

crackwise
in a tongue
which is not mine—and then

to fissure
into fantastically encouraging smiles 
and simple

peels of gentle steam-
dispatching

laughter—in one which 
suddenly is.

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