they are my kind

is there

a more beautiful

sight

than a man or woman

working?

hands in the mud,

knuckles bent around

wrenches

and pipes,

feet off the ground,

sweat

and tears, blood and grit,

going at it

day in 

day out to earn their

crust of bread.

they don't stand on

the street corner

begging,

or wait in line for 

the government dole,

the left-handed handout.

there is no daddy or mommy

to lean on

as they grow old.

they wash

and clean, dig and carry.

climb.

they wake up early

and come home late,

they make

the world go round.

they are my

kind.