Poems and Plays by 5th-8th Graders from St. Rocco’s School, Cleveland
My grandfather’s hands always have grease under the fingernails.
When he gets home from work, his hands are so black,
Covered in grease and felt so hard,
Glazed over with years of hard work.
His hands are always occupied,
Always working,
Either with his tools,
Or plumbing the pipeworks.
When his hands are finally clean,
You can see the wear and tear,
The peeling of the skin,
The cuts that finally cleared.
Fresh cuts take the place of the old ones.
Woodchips lay on the hair of his knuckles.
Varnish stains his skin.
His hands show you his rough childhood,
Fighting for his family.
These hands are the reason why I am always inspired to keep going.