Pliers
A needle nose pliers, polished like glass, damp
with tears and sweat, but not from rote plumbing leaks,
needed a good buffing at the Dust Rag Camp.
It slow-waltzed across the street where no one speaks
and mimed a tale of woe beneath a dusty lamp
intently viewed by neglected toolbox freaks.
One grand gesture of support from each to all
gratitude like oil oozed to soothe the gall.
Copyright © James Friske | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment