Monday, April 2, 2018


                  The Cement Speaks
                                                                       by Ralph Fletcher
        

Nothing about me is very speedy.
Mixing? Pouring? Drying?
Slow, slow, slow.
That’s how I go.

This humongous mixing drum goes
round and round,
         tossing me up and down,
                  but now my time has come. 
        
Set up the discharge chute!
Tilt back the the mixing drum!
Pour me out  s   l   o   w   l   y   
like elephant-gray pancake batter.

Now the workers take over,
pulling and pushing me,
                                    raking and making me
       smooth as glass.

                    When I’m fully dry I’ll be rock-solid.  
                    I’ll make this building strong as iron,
                    though that will take a week at least.
                    Now there’s nothing to do but wait.

                    Ropes around me warn: KEEP OFF!
                    though today a robin landed on me.
                    She left behind four tiny footprints,
                    like an artist signing her masterpiece. 
                   


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