Saturday Poem: Finding Tools in a Grubby Old House

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the dial indicator wired within is itching

the needle is shaking toward the red hank of space most feared

costing a fortune to get your tonsils out

the heart runs like a Timex

the house is still standing

the air still carries perfume

 

I found in the basement a hammer

and I found in the attic a sickle

and the walls went clear

Saran Wrap windows

showed chilly heck outside

got a mild case of the willies

but am using the sickle to cut down weeds

the hammer is simply fab

 

morning glories grow thick and bend cyclone fences

in my favorite slum

slats flap in the breeze

eve spouts hang like a brontosaurus’ neck

nameless weeds grow thick as palm trees

houses collapse gently

sweet and practical

gently alarmed

— Bruce Reisner

Bruce Reisner is an artist and writer living in the Perry Hilltop section of the North Side. He publishes his work on anokcorralofthoughts.blogspot.com.


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