A twelve year old boy  
  stands covered in ‘mud’

What the plasterers call
  cement

His Grandfather came
  and offered a job
  
For each hour,
  he’d pay fifty cents

The buckets were heavy,
  the scaffolding high

As he kept those mortar boards
  full

And at the end of that summer,
  more man than a boy

With new confidence
—his future to cull

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)