adventures in dysthymia

Thursday, October 11, 2007


All his tools are here now.

The hammers and screwdrivers,
the table saw that nearly
took my finger once.

See? Here's the scar.

There is rust: the rust
of long years' illness
and two more since his death.

They've mourned long enough.

And so, I will clean them,
shelve them, make them ready.
Who else would do it --

do this one last chore?

Stephen Brooke ©2007

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