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The Hammer.

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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Article Details
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Author:Eady, Cornelius
Publication:West Branch
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2008
Words:172
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