Tenderizing knuckles against
splintering boards that make up
the fence between the subdivision
and the backside of a strip mall.
All the workers are mixing pills
with their favorite cheep beers,
and thinking about the minutes
between right now, and the next
time they have to carry the weight.
There is no point in debate while
we can’t just sit in a room together.
If only to politely soak up the silence,
and tolerate each other.
Like a mountain lion and a bear
seeing the same deer and then
letting it pass.
The Weight
Teleporting Typewriter 