I read this poem earlier in the week. I enjoyed it then, and I like it even better today. Now, after this past week, I am grateful for poems that make me smile, sometimes belly laugh. They also make me think and appreciate the way poets look at life with meaning, offering a lift to low spirits, a new path for minds to follow. Sometimes there's a message that makes one say, "Agreed!", too.
John Updike's poem, Tools begins:
Tell me, how do the manufacturers of tools
turn a profit? I have used the same clawed hammer
for forty years. The screwdriver misted with rust
once slipped into my young hand, a new householder’s.
And the rest is here.
|My grandfather's level and icepick, in my toolbox.|