architectural drawing: ralph murre
NEW WORK
by John Flynn
He
feels guilty enough about writing poems
much
less talking about them for a precarious living.
He
sticks closer to carpentry; straightening boards,
hammer
blows, cutting out triangles of stair so it stands
right,
is safe and level for the climber, the old and
babies
just walking. Being sure the rafters carry
a
roof that sheds rain and whatever snow load might
settle
in. Joining oak boards to make the floor,
no
gaps, no creaks; nails angled and set in the
tongue
each with one massive blow of the mallet;
doors
that swing quietly, and catch with
a
soft, hollow chirp. At end of day he puts his
tools
away, picks up and sweeps. He inhales
the
smell and the silence of new work and this day's
chirp
of the solid core door latched behind him.
The
joy of writing poems at night is that
same
door opening on tomorrow
~ first published in WHISTLING SHADE
