The Roofers - poem

Roped to the chimney

in grippy boots

tap-tap-tap

all day long.

At lunch

low murmurs

tortillas and

refried beans

in a shaded corner

bent-shouldered

weary hombres

with eyes set

on that dream

we call American

here in some leafy suburb

that must be earned

one tap at a time

all day every day

and if they pause

for a breath up on high

there it is:

pueblo gangsters

jungle vipers

muddy torrents

stifling truckbeds

the fat berobed judge

a basement flat

men in masks and fatigues

tap-tap-tap

and that yearning

only music can salve.

Ellos pueden verlo todo.

Tap-tap-tap all day long.