Like Strawberries

Our world view is restricted by what we see, we work in silos distinct and separate from each other and our injuries are seasonal, like strawberries, muses a philosophical poet.

We went about our work

as detached

as portable drills,

as clipped from the main

description of the trip

and itinerary

as permission slips.

We checked the foreman’s blueprint

and admired the building

taking shape.

It was like watching a puppet show

through x-ray lenses.

Our injuries were predictable,

seasonal

like strawberries.

We took our coffee black

and understood discolored thumbs

better than anyone.

In the evening we took our shirts

down to the river.

Fish and riverboats passed us by.

The world was fish and riverboats.