We've got that benched plumber blues...

Things weren't going so hot
in the welding booth tonight;
well, only when my jacket
and gloves caught fire from the sparks.
I couldn't steady my hand enough
to run a straight bead across the steel
with all the stress on my mind due to:
being laid off for an as yet indefinite
amount of time, the lack of competency
at the New York State Department of Labor
and their precious Unemployment Insurance
which may or may not come soon, side work
as sporadic as weeknight sex, truck payments
and insurance agents and credit card bills
that don't care to hear the sob stories.
My nerves were shot, and quite frankly
I didn't want to be there in that smoky
welding booth in the basement of my union hall
for three hours pretending to learn a skill
that I have no illusions about ever mastering.
When I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket
I stopped what I was doing, took my shield
and gloves off, and hoped for the best.
It was a buddy of mine that I work with
returning my call. He'd just bought my old car
out of pity, and two days later one of his
vehicles bit the dust so he decided to throw
new brakes on mine and put it on the road.
Sometimes things work out that way
but don't count on it.
I asked if he had any jobs that he needed
help with, at first he was hesitant.
Maybe it was because he reevaluated
the urgency in my voice or maybe he remembered
what it was like to be a broke apprentice
or maybe he realized that he was driving a car
that he'd just bought for a hundred fifty bucks
but for whatever reason he changed his tune.
"Ya know what? I have a washer machine line
to put in for these two gay guys who called me."
He paused to wait for the joke. It didn't come.
"Yeah? You need a hand with that?" I asked with
the conviction of a death row inmate's mother.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do..."
Both of us honored an undeclared moment of silence
for the obvious homophobic jokes
that would've ensued in true construction fashion
had times not been so tough in the financial department.
It seemed a terrible waste to pass it up, but we did.
"OK, I'll see ya Thursday morning then."
That's where one of us would've mentioned
leaving the plumber's crack at home to play it safe
or reminded the other to bring his knee pads to earn a tip
but like I said, it was no time for a cheap shot.
"Alright, man. Thanks."
The welding went better after that boost in morale
but I still wanted to ask my instructor if I could go
outside to shovel the snow and then mow the grass instead.
Five more months of welding class, then one more year
of apprenticeship school, followed by forty-some-odd
years of hit-or-miss work in a trade that I fell into
when the Jack Daniel's took its toll.
Damn, it sounded so bleak when I put it that way...
but somehow, so fitting.