Thursday, May 06, 2021


 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.”


Blogger Marie Smith said...

Such a perfect description on my father’s, husband’s and father-in-law’s workshops too. It’s a man thing! Great poem.

5:21 PM  
Blogger Arkansas Patti said...

I LOVE that. There is so much love between the lines.

6:05 PM  
Blogger Goldendaze-Ginnie said...

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.

9:31 AM  
Blogger Anvilcloud said...

Sue’s dad was a kind of hoarder, ar least in his basement. But he seemed to know where everything was located.

1:51 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home