A Slow Poem from a Demolitioner

About the thirtieth heave, I begin to ask
What sort of man built these cabinets?
Sure as shooting, he appears. Equal parts
Chagrin and amusement at the spindle-lad who
One-hundred years later destroys his work.

When did, you build, these, cabinets?
Before you were born and learned how to
Build anything or hold that crowbar which
I am unsure has even still happened.

How long, did it, take to, build this?
Pal (him, again), that’s not demolitioner talk.
You need a drink yet? Maybe you should write
A slow poem about this instead of doing it.

Why is, it asymmetrical, over, here?
My son worked with me on that day. His askew
Assistance embarrassed me and cost me this job.
Which you are now costing me all over again.

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