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.”