As men,
gathered at the table
we can't just talk
so we eviscerate a vacuum cleaner
as a social vehicle
while the radio
plays oldies,
our music.
We sort screws, test wires,
thrust and parry
at mechanical bonds
to mend and maintain
a well-worn friendship,
aware that the Hoover
will never run.
YOU ARE READING
Construction Zone
ŞiirThere's dirt under my fingernails, sawdust in my hair. I'm proud to say I hammer nails. Install toilets. Hang drywall. Welcome to the construction zone. Note: I've had to "unpublish" a few poems from this collection because they are going to appear...
