no one at the wheel

i will not pass

down

to my son what i do with

my hands.

he will not learn

this trade.

he will not climb

a ladder,

or hold a brush,

or paste a wall for

paper.

the young are not

inclined to sweat and bleed,

to hold fear

in their hands,

that the work will dry up.

they find

other ways.

each generation does,

as the plows rust

in the field,

the machines leak oil

and ships

run aground with no

one at the wheel.