- This poem was published in the Spring 2009 edition of Waynessence, the literary magazine for the college I'm currently attending.
(Pardon my dust!)
You cannot see, but there's a construction sign on me.
It hangs on my forehead,
Bright orange and black.
If you could only look,
There it would be.
Step carefully through the door,
And I'll give you a tour.
Yes, I know the Dumpster out back
Is an eyesore.
Here we are in the grand foyer;
See it now overlay
The small entranceway.
See the majestic chandelier -
All those diamonds used to be tears.
Don't mind the plaster crack'd
Nor the wall holes gaping back.
I just completed a refit, rewire, and full repipe.
Here's the room I'm working in today:
I think I'll turn it into a place just to play.
This window is too small, there's too little light.
Now I must decide what will bring me delight.
Should I move it here or there?
Leave it round, or make it square?
No, don't tell me, for you see:
If you tell me what to do,
Then this room will belong to you.
It's my room, don't you see?
This decision must be up to me.
I do this every day:
I choose one room along the way.
When I finish, you clap and say
How proud you are.
Yet I see drywall dust in my hair
And how I still have to go so very far.
Copyright 2009, All rights reserved.