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

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.

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


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