FATHER

Metal toolboxes stares
like cluttered witnesses
to the greasy craftsman
toiling wire, belts and chains
wafting the gasoline smelling
breeze unafraid of black-lung
sitting on a low bench
on the mottled dirt carpet.
I remember Jesus visible
as he pulls and pushes
forming magic and toys
for bristle faced tots with
shaggy hair and dirt covered shorts.
Then oil-stained fingers finally caress
the hastily made orange spider,
the longed for bric-a brac of scraps
and scampers away contented
squealing for their roosts