Trapped. That was what happened to a fella. Wife, kids, bills, a mortgage if you were lucky. He was lucky...

His sweating
was so profuse
he could barely see.
Its salinity stung his eyes.
Mid-afternoon had hit.
The day at its hottest.
Two hours more
he had to last.
Quitting time and
a cold beer. He
wanted to feel the
rub of the cold moist metal
against his prickly face,
the pickup's air turned
full blast, the gas pedal's
usual obedience.
Finishing cement was
a hell of a life.
He supposed there were
worse lives, though. And
he was outdoors--the
place he loved. No
rubbing elbows all the
live-long. No one's
mug breathing onion and
garlic on your collar.
Yes, last two hours more.
He could do it. After so
many years? Second
nature.
He had four kids.
Little snots the lot
of them, but he loved
each one.
Trapped. That was
what happened
to a fella. Wife, kids,
bills, a mortgage
if you were lucky.
He was lucky
and, frankly,
liked being trapped.
His daily prayers
were for that luck
to last.
Just a bit
more.