By: Joe Hefta

Lately I’ve been keeping
To myself, brooding
Down in the basement
Down in the workshop
Looking over my tools and
Wondering, worrying what
Would you do with this or that.
With suspicion. The awl
Becomes a cause for concern.
The tape measure has always
Been threatening
If you had the proper tools
How would you proceed
With the remodel?
I think not gently
But with the vengeance
Of someone who has lived
With the same fixtures too long.
A sander might be useful
To rasp the wrinkles off me
And grind out the crags.
With the air compressor
Would you propose
To blast the cobwebs out of
My brain and straighten
My hair in the bargain,
Or perhaps just blow me away.
And think of what use
You could make of an arc welder.
You could chamfer me
A whole new groove.
And suddenly, there you are
At the top of the stairs in backlight.
In your hand is the only tool
You’ve ever cared to use.
It’s a flashlight, shining on the treads
Beaming brightly in the dark
Lighting up the path to you.