The Old Hand Saw
...for Ted Kooser
A reminder of my father;
more antique than useful it was tucked
inside my tool box ever ready to be used.
Soaped and sharpened many times
the blade was keen and hungry.
I took it with me everywhere
'til pure gave way to power,
and through the years it waited,
I could never give it up.
The skilsaw superseded; a cold,
efficient implement that did as it was told,
never a slip. As my effectiveness
fell short, my eyes became unsure,
my hands bore witness to the times
I slipped and sliced until I bled
when choosing my old friend.
Museum pieces, he and I,
both worn and put away;
I still recall the touch, the feel,
the smell of yesterday.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2012
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