Kings of the World

 

 

Eleven pairs of boots dangling down,
A well-deserved lunch break and rest,
Far above the city’s rooftops,
We sit and survey our handiwork.

A drink and a joke and a smoke,

Companionable chat and mutual respect,
The honest dignity of a hard day’s work,
And a view not many have seen.

Up here we feel like the kings of the world,

Building the future but alive in the present,
Our skyscraper will join many others,
But for us it will always stand proud.

We were born to move and create with our hands,

And we do so six days a week,
Our limbs may ache with exhaustion,
But our faces reveal a proud satisfaction.

Eleven pair of boots dangling down,

Long since lost, rotted and vanished,
But our fingers will linger on those bricks forever,
And our spirits still soar above the New York skyline.

This poem was inspired by the famous black and white photo 'Lunch atop a Skyscraper' (1932).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lunch_atop_a_Skyscraper