I dropped Karen off at the Portland airport on Sunday and headed north. I checked in to my usual digs, the local Motel 6 and then went to Kathy's house.  After dinner and small talk, I returned to the room and hit the sack.  I was jarred from my sleep by several noises and wrote this poem in memory of this morning.

Harleys and Hammers and Hard Hats Oh My!

I woke with a start when the Harley kicked off,

Plop bloom -bloom –bloom, it started with a cough.

I looked at the clock and gave out a sigh,

Oh my dear lord, it’s not even five.

The second Harley sounded pretty much like the first,

Plop bloom –bloom- bloom, it started with a burst.

I stared at the window and gave out a scream

“Couldn’t you leave together, you know like a team?”

When the jack hammer started, I knew I was doomed,

Diggity -diggity -diggity, it pounded way too soon.

“It’s not even seven” I yelled in despair,

“What about my sleep?”  Alas they don’t care.

 

I looked out my window and over the fence,

Men wearing hard hats, guilty of the offense.

I know they’re just workin’, tryin' to make a livin’,

I’m done with sleepin’, of that it’s a given.  

Ken Ferguson