At six forty-six p.m.
they’re still laying great big chunks of granite
in the yard
where the stairs will go
I can hear the Bobcat pouring stones
across a flat Earth
and a man rakes them just as smooth
as chunky peanut butter
on seven-grain bread
One of the cats looks down, languidly
and I look up from the couch
and the thought that passes between us is
“I wonder when they’ll be done”
It’s not because it bothers me
It’s because they’re still going
and I can’t imagine how their bones must ache
and hands must buzz with numbness
from the compactor humming
and shaking loose gravel
into the voids between the rocks
and shattered shards of cinder blocks
The cat just wonders about dinner
and why it’s so noisy out back
when everyone should be in for the night
I wonder if the mosquitoes
are afraid of the bustle and din
or are thinking about dinner, too
I wonder if jeans and long sleeve T shirts
are much use against bug bites
I wonder how much a granite step weighs
I wonder if their boots have steel toes
I wonder if it matters
I wonder if it’s something I could do
I wonder if it’s something I would do if I had to
I wonder when they’ll go home
I wonder how soon they can
