AMERICAN CENTURY BLUES

Jimmy the crew chief
doesn’t wanna hear I don’t know…
when you’re back late from your route
me and my partner slid in, we missed the hammer of rush hour
even with 3 extra stops thrown in last minute this morning
this is the first day Isaiah didn’t wear shorts, bashing out of the walk-in
laughing to shake my hand
the guys in the office ask me if I like it and I don’t know what to say
daylabor weaves an exhaustion into you
it breaks down your defenses so everyday occurrences
of the natural world take on a phenomenal and mystical weight
dawn and dusk in industrial parks
shouldn’t be so pretty, the brown briar crowning
pitiless bodies of water, maybe as deep as a creek
but gone by the end of the week, and the sun
slanting in so hard you’re dry drunk on the light
we’re all covered in a salt barely visible, the dried sweat
of hard men and women working in the building
the job reminds you what you kid yourself about as a young man
what you need, what you’ve always needed and what you always will–
something steady at home, standing in the kitchen
bringing you sweet tea with a smile–
I’m 42, it’s not as hard as it used to be but just as taxing
I guess the difference is I let the job take it from me,
all of it and what’s left is for her,
it’s easy to get romantic about work
driving into the sun both ways, being worn down and tired
steel-toed boots and leather gloves tied to your waist
but that’s what’s different now, too–it could be romantic
but it’s not.