forward in the old grey truck

as i smooth

and pull, paste and cut

each 

sheet of wallpaper,

applying it to someone's

dining room

walls

with aged tools,

i wonder how much longer

can i do this,

up and down

the ladder,

the old truck pulling

me along

to the next job.

it's no longer about

money,

no longer about expanding

the business, 

or making plans for another

season.

filling the coffers with

a few dollars more.

it's something else.

an existential crisis

perhaps

that i can't put my finger on.