Saturday 29 January 2011

Lost Tools

You ought to have had a shed, moss musty,
You would keep some rank booze there
Which we would drink from chipped cups
Rinsed in the water butt
Not clean but clean enough

Because this is my idea of being a dad
Borrowed from an old idea of yours,
An apparition out of doors,
A bonfire curling lazy late daylight skeins
Around knock-knees and varicose veins

You ought to have had a shed,
Where the tools could wait for me
And might have forced
My unskilled hands to work
At the sweat black wooden handles,
Not clean but clean enough

Those tools in their oiled sack bag could tell
Of hands that dished out lollipops
Shot unthinkingly at hotentots
And steered a wounded Hurricane back
To medals, the cold metal applause of wars

The tools are gone,
And although they’re probably in use
They don’t have a story,
Beyond this one of loss;
You had no place to put them,
No shed, musty as moss
But a garage crammed,
Not clean, but clean enough.



No comments:

Post a Comment