Shed Tears

I.

I look at the box of stuff
Halftins of paint
Some galvanised nails
Some tools
Wonder if I'll ever use them

It took half a day to clean out the shed
Most of the wood you'd saved will keep me warm next winter

Time stood still here 15 months ago
Your gouges beside the lathe
Shavings still on the floor

The frustrated hours after the tumour
Stole your knowledge of soldering silver
A half restored motorbike

It's a personal space,
 a man's shed

A man's life
in a card board box

Now it's in my shed

And I wonder if I'll ever need this stuff
Or am I just deferring
the disposal
of the last remnants
of your life?


II.

cobweb curtains dressed in dust
		cupboards flake their blistered skin
sawdust penetrates my nose

his father was a carpenter
		evening smells of sweat with wood

floor of cobbled brick
		undulating like the sea
parts of motorbike & cars
		rusted now with dust and grief

Tools from past deceased estates
	hardening half-full tins of paint
nails and screws in little jars
	half-light memories
fade to nothing-
ness

---

rob walker 01/01/01
(from Blackmail Press, NZ: originally published as "cobweb curtains" on Poetry DownUnder ezine)

 

 

 

 

 

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