Rocky Job

When I was a younger man
which is just beginning to mean something
there was a job I chose to undertake.

They were building an enormous home
nobody among the laborers then knew just what the value was.

It is my understanding that I could venture an accurate guess.
The guess of a laborer's real estate understanding is not important however.

At the time I was a subcontractor for a labor procurement firm.

High in demand, I was.  For what I was expecting, how could I not be?

My job was to carry small boulders in a wheelbarrow from the bottom of the hill to the top.
Raining, muddy, it was both of these.

The plywood was slippery under the thick soles of my rubber boots.  On my knees, mud in my eyes.

Occasionally, rocks fell out of my wheelbarrow.

The sun would come out, and the board dried up quickly as the surface water rolled down
the board and then off.  The mud in my gloves, thin in the water which had collected
inside my rigid leather finger holes.  Grit under my nails.  Pickle fingers, pale and cold.

Working is hard.  This is how you build large houses.  You have to put your back into it.

In life, many people will stand around watching you lift and bend while they smoke,
laughing at you.  Do not let this dissuade you.  They are not building their home.

 Those who expect you to labor for nothing, they are only building walls around themselves.

- J.