a cardinal in the snow.
Wild black hair is tufted up
beneath her hard hat.
Layers of flannel and Carhart
swathe her against the cold.
Steel-toed jack boots stir dust
and dance across gulches of debris.
Gloved hands tear down and best
a pounding jack hammer.
Dark eyes glint behind shades
even as her smile sparkles me.
Will her eyes see through me
or invite me in?
Does she have nails
inside those gloves
to rake my back?
Can bathed and warm wet hair
drip further than her breasts?
Could I kiss her feet
having soothed them with oil?
Would she bite me
with those pearly teeth
and where?
Might she straddle me
pneumatic and also hammer?
Wrangling lumber and steel,
wrenching tools and tar;
I see her lithe frame,
as wirey as the rebar she wrestles.
But I feel a woman,
gentle and light as her laughter;
like the wings that loft
my cardinal in the snow.
