Hammers
pound into wood
and echo off the pine trees
like shotgun blasts
on a dying fall day.
Circular saws
rip and gnaw
at sap-filled two-by-fours,
spewing a reek of
electrified pine tar.
Irving Hoppes, at 76,
gracefully arcs his right arm
through the sawdust riddled air
and sings an old country tune
to the rhythm of his 20 ounce Stanley –
“When the Looooorrrd made meeeee....”
And his cigarette
dances up and down,
inch long ash refusing to fall.
“He made a raaa-aaamblin’ man.”
Hammers pound.
Ash falls.
Saws drone on and on.
“Naawh, dammit. There ain’t been
pound into wood
and echo off the pine trees
like shotgun blasts
on a dying fall day.
Circular saws
rip and gnaw
at sap-filled two-by-fours,
spewing a reek of
electrified pine tar.
Irving Hoppes, at 76,
gracefully arcs his right arm
through the sawdust riddled air
and sings an old country tune
to the rhythm of his 20 ounce Stanley –
“When the Looooorrrd made meeeee....”
And his cigarette
dances up and down,
inch long ash refusing to fall.
“He made a raaa-aaamblin’ man.”
Hammers pound.
Ash falls.
Saws drone on and on.
“Naawh, dammit. There ain’t been
no good country songs
since ol’ Hank Williams
gone and died.”
since ol’ Hank Williams
gone and died.”
Michael McIntyre
begun 1985
revised 2011
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