The log truck driver ties a red bandana
To his longest log –
And off he rolls, the red bandana fluttering.
The sawmill is a hilly and twisty hour away.
The carpenter ties a red bandana
To his longest 2 by 4 –
And off he drives, the red bandana fluttering.
His remodeling job a straight quarter hour off.
Left behind I am.
Log trucks, carpenters’ pick-ups speed away.
I catch up, much later,
I stand by the sawmill, invisible to the men aside the saws’ screaming rips.
I stand by the house, invisible to the men hunched over the nail guns’ shots.
What am I?
What have I become?
An old man, a face in restroom mirrors,
Reading books into sleep ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky early March 2014