Poem for Every Working Man

"Man"
A Benediction

I see the laugh lines of the future
When your eyes crinkle
In the brightness of the coral sunset
As you point with your square
Hand to the way the rays slant,
The way you cradle a cigarette,
Twirling it between your fingers
Before you flick the flame up.
I see visions in your hands,
Pain under your fingertips,
Calluses on your dry, cool palm.
Rough memories embedded in your
Knuckles cracked with use,
Coarse cuticles, hangnails,
Blisters broken and damaged,
Oil smudged into your joints,
Armani cologne mixed with sweat.
Bruises as milestones:
Fading doesn’t guarantee forgetting.
Scars as altars,
The witness of the careful touch
Of a Creator trying
To remind you of your past.
The epitome of who you were created to be
Rests in the logic of how you allow yourself to be shaped.