True Work

“Don’t handicap your children by making their lives easy.”
– Robert A. Heinlein

 

Standing solid
I bend my back
squat
then straighten at the waist
hunkered ‘neath the weight
I lift clean the load
the warehouseman’s refrain
always on my mind
(back straight
lift with the legs)

the first test — no result
I try a second
then a third
on and on
day after day
long hours in the lab
the formula must be perfect
only perfect will save lives

drywall must be flush
and plumb
also square and seamless
meticulously
I set each sheet
with the level and the bob
then pause
to wipe my sweating brow

I curse my keyboard
do battle with fatigue
I coax the vision
to commit to screen
the first draft of my design
to then modify
and refine
until — the ultimate creation

I check the temperature
conduct the screening
evaluate the results
then make the diagnosis
without delay or self-concern
I begin the treatment
in timely manner
to save a life

wearing tight my mask
I count the stock
disinfect the shelves
gather the inventory
place the goods
then squelching my fear
help customers check out
knowing in this time of crisis
people must have what they need

these — and countless others
elements of the work I do
or did
or may yet do

and I am you
and you are me

and we are all together
in this constant labor
for our daily bread

but – this is not our true work

to bend to lift someone in need
to help carry their burden
until they again stand steady

to bend to pick & toss the litter
that clutters our land masses
chokes our seas with plastics

to seek the components of peace
to formulate the dialog
that fosters understanding

to measure well my tolerance
to stand squarely flush
with truth and level justice

to look into the eyes
of someone very different
and see with care — not hate

to admit my mistakes
to quietly listen
to try again to get it right

to visualize a free world
to create enduring possibility
for universal love

this — is the true work
the true care to keep
in the great hands final sweep
‘round the face of time

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 

Tuesday Night Church

 

I’ve always liked these exposed filament lights
hanging at random heights and space at Amelia’s
boldly here in Am’s front window — for all to see

reminded me of the diversity of her customers
each reasonably transparent with our agendas
each brightly afire with a burning love of jazz

she says it makes the place warm and friendly
their off-white glow, leaning a bit to golden
casts a comfortable friendly ambiance — welcoming

the conversation hovers in trend-topical bursts
hot yet quietly — controlled to a respectful degree
the jazz is cool, but crisp with an edge of freedom

we sizzle mellow, trippin’ on brilliant blistered riffs
no matter the season, the burn of the ringin’ bellhorns
keep us hypnotized and synchronized — snap-ap-ap’n

Amelia’s is a tuesday night paradise — angels a’plenty
and a dolla’ getcha a three-side of Am’s miracle ribs
smoke, sauce, ‘n slaw — nuff ta make a heathen love jesus

we, the helplessly hopeless menagerie of jazz junkies
dig the vibe that goes down every buck’a’shot tuesday
and these cats can play — keeps these hang-bulbs rattlin’

Amelia’s is tuesday night church, and the hip souls worship
I shake/swear/stomp/sweat — then leave sanctified in joy
these random bulbs in Amelia’s window know all my sins

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: Earthweal