On the workbench
by Glenn Currier
I hoist the old scarred oaken chair
onto the workbench.
I think about how this nick
and that scratch
and that unglued cross bar
and how many years it has withstood
the heavy weight of the humanity
who have found it and laid their burdens upon it.
And I give thanks that it is still repairable
still of use and available
for the brief respites
of those it serves.
I give thanks that I too
am still on the workbench.
Posted on 10/05/2018
Copyright © 2019 Glenn Currier
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 10/05/18 at 07:12 PM|
Excellent poem, Glenn, for its tight form and message, prophetic last two lines.
|Posted by Brian Francis on 10/06/18 at 01:06 PM|
You take me to your bench in this as we ponder the rest of the weary. Nice. Very nice Poet. --bf