The Weathered Wall
I stare at the dismal grey wall,
unrefined—
uneven in many spaces.
The builder
may have been
having a bad day.
This was not the creation
of someone who cared;
who took the time
to feel the room
for what it needed.
Rough edges,
recesses painted over,
as if to cover
what all can see.
Cracks,
from the earth
shifting beneath
appear as weaknesses
within the aged mortar.
Present—
not critical.
Noticed, beyond a doubt,
more unskilled hands
leave random marks
across the surface,
making the wall
wear its ugliness, so plainly.
Few bother
to look beneath
the strength binding—
holding
each kiln-fired brick in place.
I look at the weathered wall
and see me
Author’s Note: Navigating the first day of a new job.
