I’m tired. I’ve been digging a drainage ditch all day. I’m just about half way. I’ve got another 150 feet to go. Laying the drain pipe as I go. So, since I’m so tired, here’s a poem for you.
Let’s talk soon…
Deep
It took me all day
to do a two-hour job.
I overdid it yesterday.
You look at a callus,
the toughest part of me,
scoff at my misery.
You make a tiny violin
solo for my scratches.
What you cannot see is
the thumping of my
wrists, the locking
of my fingers, swelling
carpal tunnels moving
freight trains into my
hands. You do not see
facia in feet stretched
tight as your violin bow,
on the verge of snapping.
You overlook the bend
of my knees that sound
like bubble wrap twisting,
making me shorter than
my height. You are ignorant
to pain radiating throughout
my body from swollen
vertebrae. You rail against
My moans that surrender
to your mockery. Your
indifference hurts deeper
than any affliction within.
The Renaissance Maniac 