He whistles tunelessly

He whistles tunelessly

All the guys sing along to the radio

Old songs

The popular ones they can all remember

Deep voices playing fast and loose

With a melody

High-vis vests

And hard hats shining in the

Heat of a full sun

Weather-beaten faces

Flushed with exertion

Hard round bellies

For men so young

Full to bursting

With deep-fried breakfasts

Diet coke and homemade cigarettes

Rolled to perfection

As a distraction

Before climbing a scaffold

To the third floor

To finish the rendering

Fit as a fiddle

From an outdoor life

And honest work

Dreaming of weekends

On the pull

The great escape

Always a favourite

With the ladies

Ripped if you like

Until the world turns

Almost overnight

When less than middle-aged bodies give out

To high cholesterol

Arthritis slipped disks

Wonky hips and cancer of the colon

A bitter end

In men so young

Old before their time

Retired before the architect

With the floorplan

Has reached the prime

Of his existence.

On whose insistence,

He stops to wonder,

Did he turn away

From study

To take a punt

On building other people’s dreams

Steady work

And the lure of easy money

Not so funny

Now, at forty-five

When he rolls home

After a bevvy with the boys

Barely able to climb the stairs

And is too tired

For any shenanigans

Before the light is out

On his wife’s side

And a five-foot bed

Might as well be

Eight miles wide