The Hammer

 

 

I still don't know

What to do

With the hammer.

 

In my hands,

It feels like

My tongue,

Looking for

 

The right way

To say please,

Or don't shoot

In, say, French,

Or Swahili:

 

Best not

To get yourself

In that sort

Of situation

To begin

With,

 

But my wife

And I,

We bought

This house,

 

And things

Break,

 

And things

Fall away

From other

Things.

 

And so,

The fixing:

The hook,

The nail,

 

The painting

That might

Dazzle

That corner

Of the wall,

 

The beautiful

Chair

That could

Be saved.

 

Don't I wish

I could hear

My father, now

 

To finish a

Conversation

We never

Began.

 

What we used

To think

We were

Owed.

 

I don't know

How to work

The hammer,

 

So the hammer

Misses the

Nail, scuffs

The wall;

 

So the hammer

Hits the nail

A glancing

Blow,

 

And it bends

The nail

Away from its

True purpose;

 

So the hammer

Hits the

Thumb.

 

This is why

This house

Is filled with

Hesitation,

 

And slow

To mend.

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