I want to be a construction worker
I want to have rude friends who spit well, fart better, and burp best
I want to swear with the same mouth that kisses my mother
I want to blow my nose with my hands while working in the noon-day sun
I want to be forever yelling obscenities for no reason
amongst the drumming of hammers and the whining of power tools

I want a deep tan the color of wet, southern clay
and my hair to bleach platinum
I want my feet to feel secure in steel toed shoes so I can kick dogs, cats, and co-workers
I want every fingernail to be rimmed with grime
and the life and love line on my palm to be irrevocably stained with work
I want to feel my muscles remain tight after a full day of moving lumber and driving nails

But most of all, I want rain
I want rain so we can ride in the back of a pick-up truck
and head to the local tavern to wait for the rain to pass
I want to kick up my feet and order a draft
I want my buddies to hoot and holler and make our presence known
I want to slap my waitress' bottom and leave a dollar tip
So then I can sling beers and gaze out the window
to look for the sun that allows us all to do it again.

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