A healthy scorn for copper, mirrors, and size-twelve font.

So we're stuck back in the plumbing trap
my union brethren and myself
for our six weeks of work a year
when the schools are closed
for the summer
and renovations are in order
though the little runts won't notice.
We walk the marble hallways
scratching sweaty heads
and kicking ourselves
for winding up back here
smoking in the boys' room
though for me it's extra poignant:
I should've stuck around
and made something of myself
made someone of myself
made it into a nice desk job
doing what I love and getting paid for it
but most importantly
the showers would come before work
instead of afterwards.
And there's a sign in the tech room
where my crew has set up shop
in an ironic twist that only I notice.
It reads "There's no such thing
as a dumb question
except the one you don't ask."
My uncle Ray who did fifteen years
used to tell me that
as a kid and now I'm left to wonder
which vital query my mind omitted
though I know that whatever it was
would've been directed at myself--
What do I want? How badly?
Whom will I not become someday?
"Get over here, Kid," a fellow journeyman
yells at the senseless apprentice.
At first my neck jerks in the direction
of the order, old habits dying hard
but that's not my role anymore.
I'm a mechanic now, a genuine union pipefitter
overpaid and underappreciated simultaneously
a resentful shell of a man who should've been more...
but I can fix your pipes, pal
just as well as I can proofread
my letter of resignation.
Signed. Sealed. No plans to deliver.