poem for a woodshop



one more for the taste of sawdust on your neck

and two paint cans
cracking open in the corner
(they were smiling)

it’s for yellow lights on poles
that called up moth clouds and mosquitoes,
but still let us see the stars from the plywood door

another for the hum

wood glue, turpentine, and menthol on your clothes

black fingers

and the spokes of a small red bike

what was that song?

this one’s for the buzz of a work lamp
humming on with you

this is for your body on a pile of spattered sheets
paint and sawdust
and the words to some old song
I never heard above the rumble in your chest

© Rebecca Kerr, 2015

Public Domain Photo