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| Rosie the Riveter, a job I haven't had to do yet. |
in moving furniture from one
(upstairs) apartment to a smaller
(ground level) one across town,
but we were ready for a little break,
at least I was, even when
a woman who stopped by to help
a little (very little, just like her)
said, "You guys have guns!"
(The kind for heavy lifting,
not for shooting.)
Years at Nature's Way, then
pitching hay up on the farm,
countless bags of feed, hauling fence,
take a break from gardening
to shovel out the shit,
cutting, stacking firewood,
free labor for what was once
the hardest working man upon the planet.
Convenient that he never was
the type to prize a manicure
or tiny shape or constant gourmet
dishes from the little woman's
kitchen. He says he's old but
then our daughter needs to move (again)
and something inside rallies till
the job is done, polite enough to say
I made a difference. I guess
The Big Girl's got some muscles still.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013
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