Sunday, November 28, 2010

A Gary Metras Poem

Anonymous Donation


It got to twenty-seven below that winter,
which is harsh for Massachusetts,
even as far west as the hills near Pittsfield.

I mixed stucco that week, by hand.

The mixing bed was splashed with ice.
We set it on the cement floor of a large box.

The box became a luxury condominium.

With every third pull of the hoe, I rested,
to let the lungs thaw, to exhale a cloud

and waste a moment watching my crystal breath.

Such scenery would never be framed
And hung on these walls when finished.

So I mixed it into the stucco.

And quit the job.

Working Words: Punching the Clock and Kicking out the Jams Cover
From "Working Words",
Edited by  M.L. Liebler (2010)