His work truck by the road
He’s hired to lay the neighbors floors
And come here by the floods
He’ll listen through the living fence
He’ll hold himself upright
Lest he should miss one drop of spit
one goad, my arm held tight
If this carpenter can save me
(I recall I thought of this)
Then who will skim the floating bugs?
Who will cleave my wrists?
Laura Field is currently an editor and technical writer. She received her MA in English Literature and spent many years teaching in the local public school system. She lives in Alabama with her two boys at the foothills of the Appalachians.