The old carpenter winces
It’s the shoulder again
Thrown out by lifting
Boards up, up skyward
Constant grind, bending the boards
To house the content, corporate culture
The ones with jobs that truly matter
Cabinets of pain
The carpenter still strong of arm
And legs that climb heavenward
Even as his lungs fill
With contaminants and shards of siding
He knows that really
He can’t become old
Find himself under a bridge
A watcher of buildings, man of houses
With no house of his own
A man who built hospitals
Can’t see a doctor
He feeds the alley cat and understands its place
A stray himself, unwanted
He picks up the small, furry deity
An angel, true to form
Lost love to a starved soul
About the Creator
Lana Broussard
Lana Broussard writes primarily under the pen name, L.T. Garvin. She writes fiction, poetry, essays, and humor. She is the author of Confessions of a 4th Grade Athlete, Animals Galore, The Snjords, and Dancing with the Sandman.
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The Voyeur's Incandescent Reasoning
The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Beautifully crafted. Loved your poem!
This was so touching, poignant and emotional. Loved your poem!