The contractor arrived with his tailored van,
And never looked up.
All day. Head down. Filling up
Ceramic tubs with nails and torn wallpaper, doing it all
With a smile under the wail of a Norteño
Rhyme. I heard his wife call, several times:
Phone on the shoulder,
Circular saw screaming in rhyme
To the painting bristle,
The texture guy’s whistle,
And the shade tree’s call
For break time.