I met a man, I met a man, I met

a man on the street—

he was digging a hole

or breaking up rock or

maybe dancing and

everyone was making music

with jackhammers, pumps

and compression machinery—

you could smell the tar

as we crawled through the green lights.

We were all trying to get by.

He wore a hard hat with reflecting tape. He

had curly hair. He was dividing his time

and still had hours to go

so I rolled down

my window on the passenger side

as traffic backed up and

I waved and said thank you!

thank you!  and he smiled with his hands

full of pipes and fusion parts. Everyone

was working really hard and

I could tell he was pleased.