The Diggers’ Vote

Twenty years spent digging ditches, climbing through

stacks of detritus, too tall to fathom, too many fathoms to ponder.

Some streaks of weakened light leaked past guarded columns of

life’s waste and want. “I still cannot see the end,” came the distant scream.

“Just keep digging,” called a calm response. “You’ll hit paydirt one day.”

The foreman urged patience and tenacity.
Those digging broke nails and fingers and backs.

“Come election day who do you reckon you’ll be voting for?” Digger 1 asked Digger 2.

Digger 2 did not pause in her labors. “I like that Trump guy.” she said.

“He’s gonna build a big wall to keep them illegals from stealing our jobs.”

“Yep. That’s how I see it,” spat Digger 1.

“Quit your jabbering,” smiled the foreman. “Keep digging.”

  

Scaling Walls

a ladder might have made climbing easier, but ladders are for wussies.

so i backed up and took a run at the wall, jumping up to hang my fingers on the lip.

scrabbling feet searched for a hold, catching a fractured brick just right only to have

pieces of mortar crumble into rubble beneath my feet.

dropping down i crouched, defeated by the scale.

by now a crowd had gathered egging me on
“try!” “you can do it!” some cheered; others jeered.

renewed determination coursed through my brain trickling down to trembling limbs.

once again i made the run, leaping with all my might.

chin knocked wobbly, i fell back in the dust, chest heaving, eyes watering.

a wee face peeked over from the other side. “can i give you a hand lady?”

“sure, child,” i said, taking his hand and stepping over the barrier.