An aged paint
can
more than fifty years old
filled with rusty bolts.
"Industrial Flat Black"
dripping down
the art deco label.
His fingerprints
on the greasy handle
of an antique tool
as if just used,
but he has been dead
for a decade
and technology has changed.
The toolbox
stained and pocked with rust
smelling of dust
and iron filings still stuck
in oil-encrusted corners
of trays bent and dented
filled with relics
of the depression era.
Why keep
these reminders
of the past,
useless in this age
of cordless drills
and computerized cars?
Technical specialists
now replace
"Yankee ingenuity"
and "valuable junk."
What tools
will I leave
to my grandchildren?
Will they be able
to feel my fingerprints
and touch the artifacts
of my life
in a few poems
typed on a computer?
©
2001 Richard Sidy
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