Two Tools
the trowel sat next to the door
Waiting to join old familiar friends
In the worn canvas tool bag
It's shape not quite the same as new
Edges rounded on skim side
and slightly flattened on the other
From halving so many common bricks
The hard plastic handle was also worn
From constant spinning
Gathering shaking down movement
to ensure mortar held in twice smoothed strokes
The hammer lay beside it
rounded blade from constant cutting
Rounded head from broken blocks
with edges straight as factory ends
They lie together in memories
Of absent friends
and working days
Of building
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