First Day of Work

My father up and died when I was twelve. Cold shot. My mother couldn’t even drive a car. Did not. The lessons learned in Catholic school Hadn’t prepped me for the day I’d need to put my marbles down And hear the foreman say, “Get to work.” It used to be I longed to hear the words, “You’re hired.” And lived in fear I’d ever have to hear, “You’re fired.” All my life I’d answered to bosses, Employers and spouses. Now I stand an upright man and no one’s tool. Retired. But I still like to work. It’s what I do.