KNOW YOUR MESS ...
My son, Mark, in 1983 at age 24, wrote this ode to his Dad
“Know
Your Mess”.
“My
father’s workshop…a busy space,
But
so many tools out of place.
Tools
smeared by oil, others by grease,
Some
should be labeled ‘rest in peace’.
Hammers
hang longing to drive the spikes.
He
leaves us room for broken bikes.
Slew
of tiny screws, stack of wood,
Things
he might use, things he never would.
My
mother, his love, can’t understand
All
of these things without a plan.
She
brings ‘it’ up and he says “yes”,
But
never has time to plan the mess.
He
asks for a wrench, I hear of cost,
He
always knows when they are lost.
Then
he asks me for the pliers,
I
think I saw them by the tires.
But
he knows just where they are,
He
had to look some, none too far.
It
takes a man years to know his mess,
Where
all his tools lie, more or less.
My
father’s work shop, lots of space,
And
every tool, he knows it’s place.”
posted by Goldendaze-Ginnie at 1:00 PM
4 Comments:
Such a perfect description on my father’s, husband’s and father-in-law’s workshops too. It’s a man thing! Great poem.
I LOVE that. There is so much love between the lines.
from my friend Jan ...
"I have a load of tools... some inherited, some I bought - I hate to borrow anyone's tools. I discovered my tools disappearing - so I spray painted them fluorescent pink. They never disappeared again. Same with yard tools. They stopped disappearing.
But, my story of tools cannot compare to that precious poem - a love poem in its own way from a boy to his dad.
Sue’s dad was a kind of hoarder, ar least in his basement. But he seemed to know where everything was located.
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