In the old days
a man faced
a six foot plank
with a rip saw
and he wanted
two planks so
he began.
He marked the
plank with a ruler
and a pencil and
he drew a line
where he wanted
to saw and he
began. He began
to saw all the
way down that six
foot plank because
men do what
men do. It’s
between the man
and he job and
every man knows this
and no job gives a
damn. So he
began and he
sawed and sawed
and sawed and
after about the
fiftieth stroke his
muscles began to
remind him of softer
tasks, but of course
he ignored he whispers
of ache and pain.
He ignored the
screams of ligaments
and tendons when
they came and the sweat
and death like
grip of his hands
on the saw. He
sawed and sawed
and sawed and after
a while ordained
by God who rules
the growth of trees
and men and puts
them hard up
against one another,
the plank fell in two
and the man goes home
to dinner and a
woman who asks
about his day.
He doesn’t say
much. There isn’t
much to say, but
later that night
he reaches for her
and she makes room
and the sawing
motion begins again
and this time there
is no tree. There
is no saw. There is
no job. It’s the
same, however, and
they make a baby
and this happens
over and over and
over again and after
a lot of work
and a lot of
what it takes
they build a
nation.
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