Actually I counted it my great fortune
to make a living
Prying leaky raingutters
From an old house on 61st Street,
Scrambling on red composite,
gassho to the men in graves
who fastened them
In a day just as this:
Bay-clouds overwhelmed in light,
clap of pigeon wings
in a grace
Called morning:
Down-crash of twenty-foot sections,
claw & whine of nails pried
Cussing the black roof-goop
on calloused hands-
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