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The Carpenters Strecth

A lone construction sight across the street,
with workers hammering away.
One solitary man stands atop the building,
a frown plastered on his face.
His feet are balanced precariously,
lined on a single plank.
He hammers furiously away,
oblivious to those beneath.
His work on the nail finished,
he carefully sets it down on the plank.

Reaching his arms across the way,
stretching out his arms along the balanced plank.
Twisting and turning, his arms slither either direction,
along the wood to his final destination.
With a grunt he pushes his arms the final inches,
to reach the end of the long, thin plank.
Stretching his neck, he looks for the numbers,
and catches a glimpse as they come snapping back into their place.

With a sigh, the carpenter records the glimpsed number,
and mutters with contempt, “Blasted measuring tape!”
The arms that stretch an impossible length,
to achieve a common task.
One solitary man stands atop a building,
smiling down at his measuring arms,
to which none can compare.



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