at every opportunity

an old ironworker, with hoop earrings
and his boots laced over the ends
of his jeans, works and works
and works, sending steel from the ground
to the top and back when
it mattered what you did and
the life you wanted that everyone admired
and to act the way people should
instead of finding out that tomorrow
we're dead and what did it matter
and why did we leave so much behind undone

he has tattoos and he's white headed
and speaks with an accent but has lived
here quite a while and he waits
because nothing ever goes as planned
or wanted better for yourself or pacing
with one hand on his hip
having seen it all before