MANUAL LABOR

Doing manual labor
in construction
by the oval harbor
yet fearful of any accident
or going to a funeral
having been sent here
to East Boston by a friend
who knew this bard
in college
was hard up for rent
here in the hot sun
pacing by the waterfront
listening to guys
talking about car racing
yet finding the hour
to imprint my poetry
in a loose leaf notebook
under a March shower
playing riffs of jazz
feeding a chorus of birds
or reading Homer
in a book of knowledge
during lunch
resting on a bench
after a man up morning
to share a feta
or Portuguese fish sandwich
with a cup of beer
watching others
drawing on graffiti walls
about the exodus of freedom
from slavery at Passover
or speaking to a worker priest
about Jesus at Lent
who had returned
from Mount Tabor
in the Galilee,
feeling a Whitman comradery
among these gentlemen
filling in my labors
it was hardly time ill spent.