Rhythms of Life

Undulating rhythms, mellifluous sounds. . .

Together--a dissonance, cacophony, discordance

Separately--a consonance, harmony, symphony

Sounds around which my week revolves,

eagerly anticipating each.

Ready for the weekend. . .

but Monday comes too soon.

Which do I prefer?

Friday or Monday--maybe Tuesday.

The Garbage man--Monday

ebony and mahogany and brown

angular and gnarly

sweat spilling from his chin

splashed off barrels

trucks and lifts

grinding, roaring, grating

wary and focused.

The Maid--Tuesday

moreno and amber and hazel

square and round

sweat trickling from her arms

 absorbed into dresses

mops and feathers

pouf, puff

always a smile, sweet and giving

(teaches me Spanish).

The Pool Man--Wednesday

white and blond and blue

tall and narrow

sweat dripping from his nose

splashed on decks

hoses and nets

whoosh, swirl, scrape

deliberate and exacting.

The Gardener--Thursday

swarthy and black and chestnut

squat and burly;

sweat streaming from his brow

caught by lawns

blades and cuttings

 whirring, jarring

earnest and determined.

So friendly, so honest. . . so welcome--

these people we take for granted,

yet the same we envy in a way

for the sheer joy on their faces,

for the intensity of their efforts,

for their look of pride.

Could we, should we take their places?

The guilt we sometimes feel--

glad not to be in their shoes

doing what we should

but won't or can't.

We pay them so much less than what they're worth.

We owe them so much more for what they share.

They ask so little in return. . . .

 a smile, a thank-you, a show of gratitude,

a word of acknowledgement , a recognition

of shared humanity.

Yes, I look forward to the rhythms, the days, the people.

Which do I prefer?

Monday or Friday?

Maybe Tuesday!

Rosemary Jenkins

Saturday, 24 August 2013