Domestic Advance

I helped my banker build his house.

I dug postholes, stretched wire, laid

foundation. I relaxed in shade

of the pomegranate tree. The next week

there were more of us. Some raised

support beams, nailed 18 inches apart.

Some constructed rough-ins for plumbing.

We cut a hole for the flange. We unrolled

the water shield on the roof. Tree stumps

were soaked and pried from mud.

A few men packed lunches and marched off

to work on projects on the property’s periphery.

We saw their helmets glinting atop faraway

ladders. We spackled in a rapid parade.

Those who didn’t know drywall

were given nailguns, were given trowels

who feared the swaying steel crane.

We carried red roof tiles like epaulettes

and mobilized against the rain.

The author is a teacher and the recipient of a Poets House fellowship. paulhlava.com

Read more: Opinion poetry by Times readers