Men at Work
Some are hunched over
Some are limping
Some have dull and disciplined hands
All day they move in uniform
Grinding under the intimidating sun
Lifting and pulling and pushing and toiling
Looking for the next rest period
Where they sit
Where they eat
Where they fill the air with small talk
Where they smoke a cigarette (or two)
Where they take a shit--
Don’t be general;
They are generals
These microcosms of an undying universe
Making themselves hiding themselves
Being themselves amongst friends
Amongst others
These men lay the foundation
These men are the foundation
Their skins crisp under a most forgiving
Sun