The Fruits of Our Labor
An 8-hour
window day
last winter,
wind howling
from the
get-go,
extension
ladders
crashing to
the ground,
fingers numb.
Toward the
end of
the last
job it
begins snowing,
the wind
gusting,
blowing
the snow
horizontal,
step ladders
going over
& skidding
across the
concrete,
screens &
towels going
airborne.
We laugh like
maniacs &
dance around
the courtyard
waving our
squeegees in
the air,
while inside
the lady
of the
house quietly
pulls
the blinds.
