In Covington, back in the day
Everything made perfect sense
The rules were clear, the work was fun
Now we worry about what to call the
Female adaptation of the “groin grab”
(safety harness jargon)
The only helmet you ever saw was the welder’s 
We’d get right to it, bear it. grin it, demolish it

Now I retreat from it, can’t understand it
Can’t keep up the pace
But something is coming in the back door for me
I can hear it if I don’t listen too hard
I can see it but only in the periferal
I can begin to understand if it’s kept simple
And so I listen for it; a crow, a truck on the road
A bug bongs on the screen door, silence

I’m tempered by years of fire
Now I’m sanguine, can let it all go
Light rain pitter pats on the tin roof
I feel its cool breeze at the window
Now it comes to an abrupt end
Silent again this evening of the present
What is that though, coming in the back door
It’s for me I know, something more