We washed windows for doctors.
Pigeons scattered.
Fridays were busy—
six birds on a cupola.
We scrubbed rusty cast iron
in office courtyards.
Wednesdays were cloudy
and we were not knights.
And we were not
scattering pigeons.
Wednesdays were busy,
a leaking roof,
the footer for a salesman's steps,
16's in the corner of my mouth.
We were always far behind.
We clawed cedar shakes
on a steeple downtown.
Once there was a parade.
People lined the street;
their team must've won that year.
But we were always far behind,
seeing only the accidents of our tools.