the unknown

I am
the man on the roof
in the hot sun
spreading tar,
the beautician
with a pair scissors
and sore feet.
I am behind the counter
cutting meat,
I am taking
money
from hand to hand
at the toll both,
I am
underground digging coal,
cutting lumber,
the clerk
from nine to five
at the
hardware store.
I am the cab driver,
the woman
cleaning homes.
I am without glory
or celebrity.
I keep my nose to the ground,
make enough
to get by.
I am invisible
to the other world
above
and below.
I am born into this,
and will
go unknown, except
for those
that love me here,
and when i'm gone.