Construction Zone

there is magic in concrete

there is magic in concrete
      if you believe

when you work the surface

      flat, in circles,
the float tool buoyant
      on a gray puddle
here's the enchantment:
 with fingertips on the handle you can
      sense the wet concrete, the mojo
      like a sleeping wet bear
solid in mass yet grudgingly liquid
      sort of bouncy
      as you stroke

pebbles disappear, embedded
the tool is sucking cement
      a final thin film, a pretty coat
      over guts of gravel and sand

now hose the mixer, shovels, tools,
      hose your hands and boots
as the water disappears, so shall you
      unless you scratch a name

honor the skilled arms,
      the corded legs and vertebral backs
      the labor that shaped
this odd stone
      sculpted, engineered
      implanted with bolts
forgotten
half-buried in dirt
bearing our lives

Note: First published in Indian River Review