Are you the one?

 

Are you the one?

    Are you the one
at last to discover
    I don’t know diddly?

    Yes ma’am I can fix that toilet
patch that roof
    replace that gutter

    Secretly
in the cab of my pickup
    I refer to clandestine books

    All smiles
at the lumberyard at the electric store
    I chat up advice

    My screw-ups, an education
my scars, an encyclopedia
    happy houses, my resume

    Are you the one
at last to comprehend
    what a fraud I am?

    Working scared
is the best way
    to do an honest job

    Please don’t tell

…..

First published in Northampton Poetry Review
Photo by Andy Gries
Note: It’s called Imposter Syndrome. I had a particularly severe case because I was self-taught. In the school of construction work, you either do it right or you don’t get paid. That’s the report card. And I really needed good grades.