laboring alone

mud,

splattered on my face,
my boots, my jeans.

testament to work in the cold outdoors.

unnoticed by the passersby.

just another laborer in a nondescript field. alone
in the rain in the midst of tall cornstalks.

first one weed pulled, and then another. over and over. bent.
hurting. tired, crying.

bleeding hands and heart, only to be washed away by
relentless rainfall.

4 February 2010 by Glen Alan Woods