Cornerstone Poem by R. G. Bell

I sweated, uprooting his cornerstone,
And heard the laugh of a nineteenth century man.
It came softly, not from the sky, nor from
The trees he planted (or at least let stay) ,
But from the ground he cleared that covers him.

By his old gauge I wasn't working hard,
But hard enough for someone of my time.
He laughed with vengence for our turning
His hearth into a barbecue pit.
He laughed for knowing and me not knowing
How deep he'd dug before he poured that block.

It was not to be foot-pushed over,
As first I thought. A chain anchored to
Eight cylinders could not undo his work.

It took a hole three blisters deep, then a
Steel bar with a granite thole to pry
It free. It serves a fresh foundation.
It's in a wall that has no use but looks
For the new house built near the one now ruined.

A twenty-first century man may someday
Think to move that wall, not knowing big rocks
Lurk beneath the small. His work won't be as hard,
This wall being set and settled, not dug and poured,
But hard enough for someone of his time.

And if he stops to wipe some sweat
He'll hear the laugh of a twentieth century man.