Poem: Hard Work and Mess

Hard Work and Mess

The places things are made
are rarely pristine.
There is dust and scaps and here and there
blood and tears.
It’s part of the work. Part of the art.
Part of reality, even for the most beautiful,
and certainly, oh yes most certainly,
for the rest of us.

About this poem

About making things. About making lives. Poetry rarely has one meaning.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s