our world is an overgrown garden of work and verbs.
take. explain. choose. clean. find. swat. put. pay. plan. dump. fix.
except the work and the verbs strike him at night like a hammer to the head.
he is licking his lips for them soon after his belly rumbles; he is filled with nails.
as he dreams, his fingers twitch, so i give him a pencil like a bottle.
when the tape measure slithers, then snaps, he is up like that.
he is up in the morning slurping sawdust and swallowing inches, brushing up on simple math, and shampooing with screws. how he finds time to catch up with the day’s ruler i will never know.
come lunch time, he is clamping down on wood before picking up strippers.
he drives. me crazy. i can level with him though.
i call for the 6” torpedo.