Viewpoints

the trowel back pushed fresh tempered mortar lifted to scoop the hard cream wave Shook to anchor the load Then slid across the back edge of the growing wall His reach stilled as he raised the half empty tool point up To fill the closer edge on the return swipe Reaching for more in the same rhythmic bend His left hand lifted a cement block from the pile He stood it end up at his feet Slid the towel’s left edge across it Then the right back toward him The trowel stuck handle up As he lifted the block over the guideline Then down against the last block laid and buttered He gently rocked it in cut off the excess Then used it to butter the block he’d just laid The mortar was perfect Not too firm to need tapping level and not too wet to squeeze out low He couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong this time But obviously it was the last straw What is it with women anyway Why do they need to be assured every minute that they’re loved What’s wrong with being taken for granted As far as he was concerned things were fine Except it was like walking thru stacks of eggs On broken glass trying to talk to her Ted added more mortar to the tub Folded it in with the round shovel blade Then went back for more Janis was wailing in the background The old man was in the trailer with the foreman Six floors down The staging was stocked The brickies were quiet All was right with the world