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 © | Year Posted 2024

Poem

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