My street
On my street
The fluorescent-vested worker is swinging a big hammer.
Breaking up the ground with some kind of chisel.
It’s in time and rhythmic. It’s working.
Like a lovers muffled hearbeat.
When I first heard it I mistook it for a distant train.
A train so far away
that I’m still not sure if it’s arriving or left.
I’m telling you this
because
I hope and I fear and I always knew
that you were on it.
-John 9.27.2010
