the diggers
DUANE LOCKE
The three men are digging
It could be a trench
It could be a grave
It could be a groove to place sewage pipes under a house
All the diggers wear white gloves
In their back pockets
hope plugged with cork
One is measuring
for the digging must descend to an agreed upon level
It is part of the game
It was the rules
invented for the occasion
There should be no unevenness
if uneven
the unevenness will be overlooked
for one cannot live without hope
Old joys that have been dead
and buried for years
are found
They are tossed aside
