BARE HANDED

There’s a privilege in changing a light bulb

Wielding my grandfather’s four-stepped  ladder

Barehanded

Raising my visage beyond the cafe curtains

To witness the bright red cardinal

Singing its heart out

In the barehanded oak

I trust my bare feet to balance

And the wrungs of time to bear me

I am the fourth generation

To step upon this privilege

And commit my bare hand

To restore the light

And to join the morning song

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