i walk with cinderblocks

i wear a plastic case as shoes
each box separate from one another.

the box fills with concrete mixture
whenever misfortune decides to step in
and order a truck to dump the mix onto my feet.

at times, the mix takes weeks to harden
i tread onward with a heavier step
but forward i go on.

however, eventually the mixture hardens.
solidifies. my willpower. evaporates.
no jack hammer in sight.
position becomes fixed.

i cannot move on
cannot tread forward with an elephant’s foot
as deadly as Chernobyl.

my feet have become one
with the ground
with no sight of salvation
around.

every once in a while
the construction workers give me a chisel
and say it is ‘up to you’
aware i am down with the darkest of blues.

finally
after ages of chipping away
the weight is gone
but the plastic boxes remain
misfortune must begin construction again
someday.

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