Concave

He worked hard under a pulsing sun
Skin hot and dark and getting darker
Sheathing strong muscles that pull and release
The burden of weight

The work, on a good day, satisfies
It feels like shaping the Earth
It feels like wringing tension from the body
Stretches that go deep into the back
And the calves and the butt Lunging forward and bending back
Deep breaths that feed the fire

Other times, the work is too much
The joints grind to a halt
The connective tissue tears
The arms disobey and tremble
The knee bends and the legs buckle
And the nerves sing songs of pain

This cannot last forever
Nothing can last forever
Gasps of steam escape into the unsympathetic air

But today is a good day, and all that is required is effort
Like a dancer who explores all possible motion
Like a sculptor finding new shapes
An actor performing a thousand actions in sequence
Directing a play that lasts the length of a day

And after he treks back to his home
The clothes peel off like the skin of a snake
And a breeze circulates the aroma of work
A door opens, a dial is turned, and the curtain is drawn

A shower of cool water cascades into his hair
Cooling his scalp and soothing his thoughts
The water joins and sheds
Chilling those broad shoulders
Traveling across the landscape of his torso
Between his legs and around his strong thighs
Rinsing clean his precious labor

The bodily curves are painterly
The bulging marble muscles
The short hairs leading to the navel
The vein along his neck
That sharp feminine face
And the concave of his back