Something Concrete

Concrete came late early this morning

I wonder if the driver’s ever done this before?

An engineer screams, “Let’s do it son!

“There’s no time to waste! we’re under the gun!”

 

Pump truck arching above like a mantis

Starts belching and spewing its liquid grey essence,

Drum after drum spins into the hopper;

“We’re rolling here; nothing must stop us!”

 

Pour lines constantly ebb to and fro,

“How many meters we got left to go?”

Finally the last truck gives up his load;

Yet we can’t stop or put things on hold.

 

No quarter asked — and none has been given;

Superman thinks he’s died and in Heaven.

But concrete’s really boss around here;

Until it says so there’s no being still.

 

Power trowel engines start with a roar;

Sounds like Indy’s just through the door.

Men are scrambling around me like ants;

“We must catch the edges as quick as we can!”

 

Whirling and churning the soft mud around

My trowel machine hums its purposeful sound,

Then when at last we rest for a while

I sit and write poems to practice my style.

— copyright, TC, 1995