Those tan-blessed scaffolders
have left their clamp bags on
sun-mowed grass & graves – no
mounds – time has eroded line
& citation – dead worn down –
whirr of battery-driven tools
rub this churchyard’s grace –
I sip my coffee as murmurings
of a podcast fits my ears – I
am not bolted to this bench –
time will move me on to graze
on other thoughts – time mine
to erect as a lost cause – No
bags of clamps to throw aside