A Writer’s Notes #54

I wrote this poem as a commentary on my recent birthday. It’s titled SHOVEL READY: Once they were men with beach ball-bellies and uneven stubble, many with tobacco-stained teeth. But today a leggy young woman wearing yellow work boots, jeans, and an inviting halter top, her brilliant smile as white as her shiny hard hat, brings traffic to a standstill spinning SLOW and then STOP as though she’s amused by her mastery of our fates.
I hope she’ll ask me to pause for a moment when I reach her for I’m convinced she’ll be glad she did— although I haven’t the slightest idea why. As the gap between the rusted-out pickup in front of me widens she beckons as if she’s pleading with me to join her. My heart skips a beat before she waves me on, whispering as I crawl past, “Let’s go, old timer, I haven’t got all day.”

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