Good Works
The man two doors along is more a man
Than I am. That’s according to clichés.
Those normal things I can’t do right, he can.
The simplest manual travail dismays
Me. He just does it. He has more of bulk
Than my slight body does. He has the form,
The solid shape, required. He’s not a hulk
But not a hairy wisp like me. He’s warm
In what he says to neighbors and to me—
And what he does, as well. He aids us
When he sees a need—does it silently.
He’s decent and helpful without a fuss.
He doesn’t believe a Spirit God.
This Martin just does good. Is that so odd?