we had a call a few nights ago from a local charity getting together a crew to work on a habitat for humanity house and it reminded me of another recently found poem.
In the slow snow
the clack and crack of crowbars and hammers,
the scrape of shovels against charred wooden floors,
and the conversation of carpenters
discussing the builder's lack of technique
and watching the clean-up kid
scrambling around in the dumpster
like a monkey in the jungle.