working overtime
in the sun,
laying
a new stretch of road.
shovels and rakes,
in hand,
shirtless, wearing
heavy boots,
and darkened jeans.
black
tar
for ten miles.
we couldn't see the end
of it.
we were young.
and the money
was good
as the fumes stuck
to our lungs.,
our faces,
our hair. but life
was almost perfect.
tomorrow
there would be more
roads to tar,
there were miles
and miles
in front of us,
all summer long.
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