Poem: August 18, 2019

Wasted Time

It's hard for me to imagine that
they did it that way, like my
grandfather who must have
gone to Kuesters Hardware and
bought a good length of sturdy
rope, brought it home, cut a 1x4
with a V-shaped notch on each
end for a seat, climbed the tree
in the back yard and tied both
ends of the rope to a thick, strong
limb, placed the seat in the U-
shaped cradle of the rope, and
secured it with bent nails, so
that I could swing in a warm
afternoon, while he sang,
I love you, a bushel and a peck...

or that my parents spent an entire
weekend with their friends, the
men sawing lumber, cutting
dowel rods, screwing in hinges,
and painting the wood white to
create a tri-fold puppet theater
while their wives sewed curtains
and six felt puppet characters
for each family, so that we could
make up stories, and perform
double-features with our hands,

and I am hardly able to imagine
a project that isn't bigger than
myself, that couldn't be bought
more cheaply, designed more
safely, that wouldn't sit unfinished
like an accusation, or that didn't
require more skills or tools than
a piece of IKEA furniture, not
when there is so much work to do,
not when we're all so busy, not
with so many TV shows to watch.