It’s often the people
Who make shit move
Who decay the slowest
Even though we’re the ones
With the most wear
Because like a leather
We are pliable after years
Of work and the creases
In these bodies we wear
Have heard stories that
Are enough to
Build bridges through
Literally
Fucking
Anything
Because these bodies we wear
Are enough to house us
And there are moments
We remember to pause
Long enough to repair
Because those broken plywood
Rafters are enough to
Hold shelter through
Literally
Fucking
Anything.