HIS MACHINES

The machines in his wood shop
have the capacity to make him anguish
when they misbehave
frustrating his plans for creativity.
So dependent is he
upon their functioning well
that when they don’t
he prays for patience and discernment.
He has had funerals for some of them
who have served him well for years
He comes to sadness
when they join  steel grave yards.
He has become dependent
on those tools that go round and round
and cut and shape and smooth
the pieces his hands  feeds them
He finds fellowship with his machines
and counts on them as enablers.
He’s thankful as he turns them on
with hopeful expectations.
This entry was posted in Poems. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply