That’s Why You Go to College by Nathan Coney
The two-hander,
a chunk of granite (approx. a foot), scraps my arms as I try to
set it in the wall for the Nth time
From behind, amongst juvenile guffaws and the grunts of parenting,
come father and son – matching hats. They stop, admiring my handiwork, and leave, with the father stating,
“Son, that’s why you go to College”.
The rock slides in perfectly
frustration as some sort of emotional lubricant. Dirtwork, soil neath the fingertips,
an unforgiving farmers tan,
has produced trustworthy souls
ones with more respect to man
the land,
and themselves,
than many of those to turn themselves to an immediate degree.
I restrain myself from cussing aloud,
and give into my own labor.
My hands reach down for another stone, spreading some more dirt upon my character.
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