I remember
the men I dug
holes with
in the Summer of 2014,
I had just graduated
with an honours degree
in theology & history
and I felt I needed
to learn something.
*
It was hot
everyday
and on our
smoke breaks,
we watched the sky
and prayed for rain
but the rain
never came
and we continued to dig
in a heat almost as cruel
as the wage we were paid.
*
Most the men
were from Eastern Europe
behemoth men
with battle axe arms and
cinder block hands
who rarely spoke and
looked at me with great humour:
My shovel weighed more than I did.
But I was tenacious, and dug
them holes like there was
treasure to be found.
*
The holes were to be
2 metres deep &
2 metres wide.
We dug 20 to 30 a day
and each hole brought
with it, a new sense
of existential terror.
It was in each of our eyes
as we approached the next X
on hard and unforgiving earth:
Blood dripping down pickaxes
Time pissed into the void
as we buried ourselves
in graves of our own making...
*
And the rain, never came
and the only treasure we
ever found, was the silent
understanding:
That we dug our graves,
together.
About the Creator
Dean F. Hardy
Writer from Dublin, Ireland.
*All work here is owned by Dean F. Hardy*
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Comments (19)
Powerful 🤍🕊️
"Battle axe arms and cinder block hands" - what an image that is.
I wasn't subscribed (I am useless at that stuff) I am now. Your interview with Heather has given this fabulous poem a whole new dimension too. Fascinating.
Read this then the interview with Heather. It gave me a deeper understanding and a greater respect for the piece. The power and complexity of youth, ready to take on the world but beat down by the reality of it all. That is why you see old men (and women) Who gave up, and old men/ women who fought back. The difference in them is clear. Keep plugging away my friend, I have a feeling you are one to fight back.
Reading this I can't tell if You're digging graves for others, at predetermined burial sites, or if You're at a historical site trying to find some form of hidden treasure as if trying to connect Yourself to the past. Yet, the sense of this here reminds me of the plot to the story "Holes." You're digging Yourself to an early grave, each day, day after day, that the sun rolls by and this harsh works taxes its tolls on Your body. While You hit it up with the blokes, on break taking a smoke, You're all too wise and already awoke, that with Your own spades You're digging Your own graves. I feel that way, even working for my current wage. Even in comparison to others, I'm considered to be doing well and success is moderately rife. Yet, I was in fear and cried to my friends that I was scared about only being able to make the same amount of cash throughout the rest life. All work in life isn't thrilling. Yet, I'm still striving for a career that is monetarily successful and fulfilling.
Oh my gosh, this is amazing, Dean! Your poetry is next level– always a deep well of meaning/wisdom. Love this so much! Would love to listen to a spoken word on this one- you up for it? 💫💞
Rage amid the wage, so eloquently written, Dean. Powerful piece.
Raw and powerful, as befits the crew. Well done.
Nice piece ♥️📝👌💯
Authentic & powerful!!!❤️❤️💕
Oh my. That took a turn. Makes me think of all the years I spent chained to a desk, sitting in my own coffin. Excellent work.
Interesting foreshadowing with the rain symbolizing the hope for relief that doesn't come, and the inevitable still looms. This was so gripping! GREAT piece!
I wasn't ready for how quickly this switched from a learning/ growth opportunity to a death sentence! The intensity and sense of foreboding in this poem is jaw dropping, I loved this!
Well, that took a tragic turn. Well done, my friend. You keep us guessing.
This is fucking good Dean. Your writings raw as shit.
You’ve outdone yourself, Dean Francis. “Time pissed into the void as we buried ourselves in graves of our own making...” That’s honestly what I look around and see everyone doing every day. I’ve done manual labor. Not this hard, obviously. But I did learn something. I learned I’d rather live under a bridge if it comes to that. They say it’s honest work but “they” lie. When we do things for money we would never otherwise do, it breaks down the body and kills the spirit. I guess you learned something theology doesn’t teach. Wonderful work. 👏🏼
Be tomorrow, I fear "you shall find me a grave man." But I shall have dug with honor.
Excellent work!
ayayay...this is dark, deep and powerful. Love how it develops and that ending! Excellent, Dean, Excellent!