Manual Poem 

like a true blue sun
heats hard working hands
like a true blue sun
shadows trees
and lingers
manual like a tavern
tapping in the night
your hands working
really working
now and there
here and then
I might get done
but
I don't know why

this is a standard shift
I love automatic
all of a sudden
in the here now later locale
picking up where you left off
the last time

hammer, nails and pliers
hard sounds, hard work
forcing rhymes and alliteration
by brute strength nailing
the true meaning of the thing
the true meaning of all things
contained in a single blow

by the boy poets digging