He can look at a room and calculate the framing
In his head down to a sixteenth of an inch.
He can look at a house and rightly judge
Its weight and force integrity. Always on the money.
He drives a broken-down Chevy truck 100 miles a day.
He says it's the most dependable vehicle ever.
He has a story for every topic and will talk and talk.
He charges a lot of money, but gives more than he takes.
He always returns his calls, volunteers to do pickups,
And never complains about hard work no matter
How far off-plan things go. He once worked for four hours
To bore a hole through the sill of this house and
Talks about it as if it were the best day ever.
He charged me for one hour.
He doesn't really have any money.
He doesn't really have any future.
He does, however, have today in the fullest measure.
It's his heaven. It's his hell. It's his dream. His wishing well.
He exists in a moment, a second-by-second world
With nothing behind or in front,
With no one better or worse,
Where ability matters and kindness rules.
And then he's gone.
An innocent in a world
Of hammers and saws.

03/24/2008

Posted on 08/19/2008
Copyright © 2026 W. Mahlon Purdin