plumber

i have no clue

paging through volumes

i see nothing of value

nothing worth its

perversion

the earth so red today

the impressions of beams

they crumble at my touch

the whole dug the rest pushed in

so grave an undertaking

ductile steel corridors

left burried

forgotten

my life’s work

to never be seen

under floors

behind walls

the trees i plant

give and take

as i walk away glad for it

 

the dead man’s prayer

 

A hundred years from now

they will gaze upon my work

and marvel at my skills

but never know my name.

That will be good enough for me.

 

d. hallohan