My back aches. My hands swell. I'm glad for the work. No one hassles me. I'm refreshed by the ocean breeze.
My prestigious education meant something many lifetimes ago. The awards I won as a journalist don't mean much anymore. The planners have planned the bulk of the wealth away from the bulk of the people. So I shovel dirt. And somehow I am grateful.
Another spadeful. Another. Another. My body works, my mind drifts. I am surviving, working. My mind is feasting. I shovel dirt and think about you.