Rhythms of Life
Undulating rhythms, mellifluous sounds. . .
Together--a dissonance, cacophony, discordance
Separately--a consonance, harmony, symphony
Sounds around which my week revolves,
eagerly anticipating each.
Ready for the weekend. . .
but Monday comes too soon.
Which do I prefer?
Friday or Monday--maybe Tuesday.
The Garbage man--Monday
ebony and mahogany and brown
angular and gnarly
sweat spilling from his chin
splashed off barrels
trucks and lifts
grinding, roaring, grating
wary and focused.
The Maid--Tuesday
moreno and amber and hazel
square and round
sweat trickling from her arms
absorbed into dresses
mops and feathers
pouf, puff
always a smile, sweet and giving
(teaches me Spanish).
The Pool Man--Wednesday
white and blond and blue
tall and narrow
sweat dripping from his nose
splashed on decks
hoses and nets
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whoosh, swirl, scrape
deliberate and exacting.
The Gardener--Thursday
swarthy and black and chestnut
squat and burly;
sweat streaming from his brow
caught by lawns
blades and cuttings
whirring, jarring
earnest and determined.
So friendly, so honest. . . so welcome--
these people we take for granted,
yet the same we envy in a way
for the sheer joy on their faces,
for the intensity of their efforts,
for their look of pride.
Could we, should we take their places?
The guilt we sometimes feel--
glad not to be in their shoes
doing what we should
but won't or can't.
We pay them so much less than what they're worth.
We owe them so much more for what they share.
They ask so little in return. . . .
a smile, a thank-you, a show of gratitude,
a word of acknowledgement , a recognition
of shared humanity.
Yes, I look forward to the rhythms, the days, the people.
Which do I prefer?
Monday or Friday?
Maybe Tuesday!
Rosemary Jenkins
Saturday, 24 August 2013
