I wasn’t born
to be a sword,
to be the thrust point
of any fight;
I’ve lived a whole life
of blunted regret over that.
I was asked
to be a shovel,
to dig deep,
put in unsung work;
instead I lay there
dissatisfied, a waste of steel.
It’s not too late
to shrug off self pity of course,
but now instead of
turning my own soil,
I should help dig others’ gardens,
load them with compost
I’ve been hoarding
for a lifetime,
provide some hope
that what will grow there
will fuel the next generation
of steel.