just a weekly poem here- poem six

Husband said- dirt no longer comes off my hand.

Wife said- I have dinner already planned.

Days TIG welding in the pouring rain can kill me.

Days separated blurs of time. Do I get mine? One called free?

I create heat-treated carbon steel bridges.

I create colourful Lego bridges.

Functional structures for people travelling over water.

Emotional structures for our only daughter.

I get dirty, wet and bone cold.

I get drained, worried, and often feel old.

I read blueprints, causing arguments with site engineers.

I watch Cocomelon times one million, causing nursery rhyme nightmares.

You don’t appreciate how hard I work.

You don’t appreciate how hard I work.

You sit home all day, enjoying life.

You treat me like a burdensome wife.

Look…

Listen, I see your dirty steel-toe boots, burn holes in your FR suits, clothing to prevent electrocutes.

I see streaks from silent tears. I admire your parenting through fears.

I like when you buy chocolate to stop my mothering burnout fit.

I like your meticulously crafted meals; flavours hit right in the feels. Salad with edible flowers was euphoria.

Love that steel flower you welded for our “anniversaria.”

Let’s make things together.

Let’s make flowers together.