You used to sit
on the cross beams
drilling holes through
for the wiring
circa 1965
on some building site
where Clifton
had left you
with the tools
for the jobs
he wanted done
hand drill
screwdrivers
hammer
chisel
and enough electric cable
to reach
the North pole
in the background
transistor radios
were blasting out
pop music
Bob Dylan
the Beatles
The Rolling Stones
and here and there
other guys
plasterers and painters
and bricklayers
all doing their job
when and where
they could
and you wondered if Clifton
would remember
to pick you up
after work or if
you'd have to get
the bus home spending
your own money
which he seldom repaid
(the tight ***
but sometimes
you thought of Judith
and what
she was doing
and whom
she was seeing now
thinking back
to the days
when she was yours
the bright days
the days you spent
by the pond
(which she
called the lake)
the kissing
the loving
the sun over
the pond
making shadows
and bright places
or the days at school
on the sports field
after recess
her words
her wisdom
her bright eyes
and smile lingering
as you bored the hole
in another cross beam
yours hands aching
from the constant turning
and Dylan singing
Blowing in the Wind
from some transistor
across the way
another hole to bore
another boring day.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
You used to sit
on the cross beams
drilling holes through
for the wiring
circa 1965
on some building site
where Clifton
had left you
with the tools
for the jobs
he wanted done
hand drill
screwdrivers
hammer
chisel
and enough electric cable
to reach
the North pole
in the background
transistor radios
were blasting out
pop music
Bob Dylan
the Beatles
The Rolling Stones
and here and there
other guys
plasterers and painters
and bricklayers
all doing their job
when and where
they could
and you wondered if Clifton
would remember
to pick you up
after work or if
you'd have to get
the bus home spending
your own money
which he seldom repaid
(the tight ***
but sometimes
you thought of Judith
and what
she was doing
and whom
she was seeing now
thinking back
to the days
when she was yours
the bright days
the days you spent
by the pond
(which she
called the lake)
the kissing
the loving
the sun over
the pond
making shadows
and bright places
or the days at school
on the sports field
after recess
her words
her wisdom
her bright eyes
and smile lingering
as you bored the hole
in another cross beam
yours hands aching
from the constant turning
and Dylan singing
Blowing in the Wind
from some transistor
across the way
another hole to bore
another boring day.
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