One Job, One Life


No ear may hear 

My faint cry to live anew

To change directions,

North to South.


Wind breathes into my nostrils,

The sun cooks at my freckled skin,

As a decayed wrench turns in my ashy hand.

Tightening a bolt as though I was using a finger;

No man nor woman dares to consult me.


I blink and find myself upstairs,

As the hum from an A/C unit whispers into the room,

And a faded collared shirt rubs at my skin;

Working away at blue prints on a futuristic screen.

Behind my desk a faint smile brings peace.


I blink and my hair grows with specs of gray.

I feel for my Armani coat lying on my chair

And gaze beyond the windexed windows to the outside.

I see a remarkable skyscraper becoming whole.

A concrete wall surpassing the marvels of the Hoover Dam.

A floating carriage leaving scrapes in the sky.


These are my creations.

The apprentice has become the master.

A little luck and pluck may go a long way.

A story to put Horatio Alger to rest.



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