there is magic in concrete
if you believe
when you work the surface
flat, in circles,
the float tool buoyant
on a gray puddle
here’s the enchantment:
with fingertips on the handle you can
sense the wet concrete, the mojo
like a sleeping wet bear
solid in mass yet grudgingly liquid
sort of bouncy
as you stroke
pebbles disappear, embedded
the tool is ******* cement
a final thin film, a pretty coat
over guts of gravel and sand
now hose the mixer, shovels, tools,
hose your hands and boots
as the water disappears, so shall you
unless you scratch a name
honor the skilled arms,
the corded legs and vertebral backs
the labor that shaped
this odd stone
sculpted, engineered
implanted with bolts
forgotten
half-buried in dirt
bearing our lives
First published in the Indian River Review
