Like the carpenter whose tools were so dull
he couldn’t for the life of him devise a miter joint
Like the mattress left out on the curb all night
Like the woman
so fallen out of practice, she can no longer sing from the hymnal
Like the smoker on the scaffolding
Like the sleeper on his cardboard on the pavement Like the rain
Like the dog whose human so loves her Whose hip
will never heal again
Like the dog who trembles in pain on her leash whose human
so loves her, he cannot bear to let her go
Like the takeout tossed into the bin for recycling Like
the crosswalk the postbox the flashing light
Like the beggar whose accordion knows only
the single musical phrase Like the air
with its particulates Like the idling bus
Like the cherries at the fruit stall Like the cyclist Like
the bus Like the cyclist Like his cellphone Like the bus
Like the beggar so bored with the music, he
has never sounded out the rest of the song Like the carpenter
whose work went so slowly for the dullness of his tools,
he had no time to sharpen them
This poem references a passage from Cormac McCarthy’s The Crossing.
