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Nutley, NJ
Correspondence to: Anthony Buccino, CB Press, PO Box 110252, Nutley, NJ 07110; e-mail: abiebook{at}aol.com
No new buildings needed cripple joints,
or two by fours toed-in sixteen inches on center
to frame a wall and a window opening.
Nobody needed concrete nails to anchor a frame.
There wasnt any carpenter work for the members
of the Carpenters and Joiners Local.
That season things were as bad as early
December when lots of jobs shut down
and the new jobs wait until spring to start.
So many Christmas holidays held the pendulum
of no toys this year because Dad had no work and,
well, you cant expect Santa to buy everything, you know.
But this one season there came another job to do,
one that pays better than the carpentry.
All you had to do was fit the insulation around the pipe.
But who knew, or if they knew, would ever admit,
that the asbestos fibers released when you cut that stuff
to fit the pipe would then come back years later to kill you.
And anyway, it would look close enough to smokers cancer
that no one would ever suspect or look for asbestos
in that mess inside your chest. By that time,
no one will remember you or where you worked
or who paid you to fit that stinging asbestos insulation
around those pipes in that foolhardy asbestos season.
The money men would be long gone – you would be
shit out of luck, and someone would get well paid
to work in protective gear to undo the work youve done.
Footnotes
Editors Note: Anthony Buccino "edits business news all day and sneaks away at lunch to write poetry." These two poems about his father describe an all too familiar story encompassing the beginning to the end.
—Michael Zack, Section Editor, MD, FCCP
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