Like the carpenter whose tools were so dull

he couldn’t for the life of him devise a miter joint



Like the mattress left out on the curb all night



Like the woman

so fallen out of practice, she can no longer sing from the hymnal

Like the smoker on the scaffolding



Like the sleeper on his cardboard on the pavement Like the rain



Like the dog whose human so loves her Whose hip

will never heal again

Like the dog who trembles in pain on her leash whose human

so loves her, he cannot bear to let her go



Like the takeout tossed into the bin for recycling Like

the crosswalk the postbox the flashing light



Like the beggar whose accordion knows only

the single musical phrase Like the air

with its particulates Like the idling bus



Like the cherries at the fruit stall Like the cyclist Like

the bus Like the cyclist Like his cellphone Like the bus



Like the beggar so bored with the music, he

has never sounded out the rest of the song Like the carpenter



whose work went so slowly for the dullness of his tools,

he had no time to sharpen them

This poem references a passage from Cormac McCarthy’s The Crossing.