Solder Me

A long day of slinging pipe
renders me useless
from the neck down
and arguably north as well.
The sweet stench of that amber
non-precious metal
used to transport water
sustenance, life itself
permeates my pillowcase
my bloodstream, the very core
of who I am--
But I am not a plumber.
I'm a man who pays his bills
with pipes.

Someday, after pocketing some change
in a checkout line and then scratching his face
my son will think of me
when smelling copper on his fingers
if the penny doesn't die
along with my trade and my dream.
"Dad would've been happy,"
he'll tell himself to justify his purchase.
And somewhere, in the special hell reserved
for those who deny what they are, I'll be
nodding my head in sweaty agreement.
One can only be so lucky.

I'll take my chances
at the wheel.
Put it all on red, Abe.
I've got this funny feeling.