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His Down's Syndrome makes His age a tough guess, I'll Say eight to ten. Wide eyes on machines, Ice cream dripping on the Pavement outside the Construction site. *I wanna work like this when I grow up,* he says in Young enthusiasm to a mother Whose eyes well up with Gratitude when I approach And kneel down in front of Him. *So you want a job, Buddy?* I ask him with a Wink. He suddenly remembers His ice cream and bites into It shyly. Nods, glancing at the Tools in my belt, the scratches On my arms, the brick wall I've been attacking with a Wacker jackhammer. Nods Again. *Well, I'll see you in a Few years,* I say with another Wink, this time to his mother, Who'd look her young age if Her eyes weren't as tired, *But you can start with this And get some practice.* I hand Him my Stanley Fat Max Hammer. His ice cream Hits the ground as he Recieves it with both hands, Looking to his mother for Confirmation that it's ok. Oh, it is. She mouths a Thank you SO much... They walk away, his chatter High pitched and fading Around the corner. And I Head over to the foreman to Report that I lost my hammer. Don't ever employ me. I can work a good game, but I'm too soft around little heroes.
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Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
Stanley Fat Max
His Down's Syndrome makes His age a tough guess, I'll Say eight to ten. Wide eyes on machines, Ice cream dripping on the Pavement outside the Construction site. *I wanna work like this when I grow up,* he says in Young enthusiasm to a mother Whose eyes well up with Gratitude when I approach And kneel down in front of Him. *So you want a job, Buddy?* I ask him with a Wink. He suddenly remembers His ice cream and bites into It shyly. Nods, glancing at the Tools in my belt, the scratches On my arms, the brick wall I've been attacking with a Wacker jackhammer. Nods Again. *Well, I'll see you in a Few years,* I say with another Wink, this time to his mother, Who'd look her young age if Her eyes weren't as tired, *But you can start with this And get some practice.* I hand Him my Stanley Fat Max Hammer. His ice cream Hits the ground as he Recieves it with both hands, Looking to his mother for Confirmation that it's ok. Oh, it is. She mouths a Thank you SO much... They walk away, his chatter High pitched and fading Around the corner. And I Head over to the foreman to Report that I lost my hammer. Don't ever employ me. I can work a good game, but I'm too soft around little heroes.
sgholter
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sgholter
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
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