I sit outside a closed coffee shop
watching construction workers lay cement.
They trudge and shovel in the slush of the mess
and it's tough to think that this will harden,
hold shape,
and become impenetrable.
But I know it does. Time and time again.
The eight men work
and I wonder whether any of them
write poetry or cry outdoors
as they smooth out the surface of the sidewalk into
the shape that will shortly
be as hard and dependable as their masculine stares.
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