The Builder

He starts his day with
a mortarboard of grey
matter. Chunk by
chunk
cementing kitsch melodies
seeping from his radio.

Block after
block
considering the paradoxical
nature of the brick.
He is working with someone
else’s brain:
Hand to trowel to concrete to
1960s pre-fab masterpiece.

A fixed impersonal blank.

Standing before the finished piece
he sees no
reflection.
Driving down the road he
witnesses plagiarism committed by first-time buyers
with no regard for
bricks or cement or foundations
or anything at all. Calling a house
a home without his permission.

Refractory.

At night he sinks into his
own skin
and wonders:
how can he wake up
if he hasn’t
been to
sleep?