THIS TIME
When I got up I did not fall back down. The six
men who were working on a nearby roof, they
seemed to have the power of something in their
hands. Flying arcs of nails and hammers and harsh
guns punching nails about. The bite of metal into
wood. Together some seamless array of tedium,
a tedium I'm sure so normal to them. Yet they
seem strong, and still carry on. I heard the small
one say, with a red kerchief on his neck : 'This
time, when I got up, I did not fall back down.'
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