JR Turek

contractors chain-saw empty orange carts
through back lot aisles of vans and trucks
lists scribbled on scraps of plywood
flat yellow wood pencils propped behind ears
jeans and work boots flecked with paint
sheetrock dust pales mussed hair,
traces treads of boot prints on black macadam
a makeover circulates in their head
if you ran a putty knife across their forearm, they’d bleed orange
hunched over their conveyance, arms stretched
muscles itch to bench press a remodel --
tongue-in-groove oak flooring, foil-faced insulation
domed skylights, high hats, flat cabinets
ready for kitchen assembly, ceiling fans
paint cans, spackle buckets, sawzall blades
they drill drive carts into a tangerine wonderland --
hammers swing from holsters, tape measures
belt-clipped beside cell phones
2 x 4 smiles emerge victorious behind piled carts
coiled, clamped, tarped into truck beds
van doors slam, muscles twitch, they drive off
into a sunset of dreamy-eyed customers


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