I spent what light Saturday sent sweating <br />And learned to cuss cutting grass for women <br />Kind enough to say they couldn't tell the damned <br />Difference between their mowed lawns <br />And their vacuumed carpets just before <br />Handing over a five-dollar bill rolled tighter <br />Than a joint and asking me in to change <br />A few light bulbs. I called those women old <br />Because they wouldn't move out of a chair <br />Without my help or walk without a hand <br />At the base of their backs. I called them <br />Old, and they must have been; they're all dead <br />Now, dead and in the earth I once tended. <br />The loneliest people have the earth to love <br />And not one friend their own age—only <br />Mothers to baby them and big sisters to boss <br />Them around, women they want to please <br />And pray for the chance to say please to. <br />I don't do that kind of work anymore. My job <br />Is to look at the childhood I hated and say <br />I once had something to do with my hands.<br /><br />Jericho Brown <br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/odd-jobs/
