I am the muscle, America, landscaper of land, pull
weeds
and grass and pick
up trash, scrub baseboards
from state line to state
line of the page
wipe chalk boards and desks,
sweep
and mop from the grandeur
of mountains to the lowlands
I write from the honesty of
clouds to the deepest blue ink
across the country my
birth land like a songster I
sing with a shout, my words
are true with a mop and
broom, I tend to the work
before sun and lift my hat
at dawn and wipe my sweat
from sea to sea
on my
brow. And happily do a dance and lay my head to rest.
