This evening, there was a road crew

in the streets of a colonial town.

They blocked traffic and began work at dusk.

The sunset against the faded red bricks

made the scene–and the big-bellied crew–

look like guests at a late-day garden party.

It appeared that one man ran the excavator

while the rest looked on,

the audience of an outdoor theater performance.

Their mundanity and at-odds presence

made me want to cry

and become one of them.

Never did laboring over asphalt and drains

seem so appealing–just a step down from the divine.

More than anything, it was the unspoken comfort,

the unrecognized camaraderie,

that made these humans glorious,

made them creatures I wanted to embody.

Or maybe it’s just that I forget I am perceived

and felt seen by them.

Jordan Eve Morral