ODE TO THE MEMORY OF A WOOD MAN

In memory of my dad, who would have turned 80 today..
______________________________________________
A young girl, with curly auburn hair

legs swinging,  
sitting on a weathered stool,  
sorting an old paint tin of mixed nails,   
for pocket change
fresh sawdust,  
on the broom,  
fingered letters in the dirt,  
sweat-polished hand plane,  
just out of reach
shelac flakes  
a waft of turps on the breeze  
an unrecognisable whistled tune 
breaking the quiet,  
time for a break  
home made ginger beer  
time  
with no words
in the shed  
content,  
together  
dad,  
and girl apprentice .

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