Amper(stand)

Burnside, ironside, bricks and heavy things.
names that bear a testament to cement.
steadied by nails (the poor man’s weaponized construction)

on the weekends I blister and squint and grown
   self-satisfied with my wounds.
I don’t think about the future or the past.
my face is red as the tulips in a Sylvia Plath poem
            (she loved tulips)
I feel like one…two lips,
a great blooming fearful flower.
my hand is too weak to hold a hammer,
                        I need both hands.

I need your hands.