Tools Hope For Use

                                                             --for Joe

Here is a man whom rusted metal follows home
like strange ducklings. Ancient farm implements,
grizzled trapper's chains and shackles, vaguely
Amish hand tools all gather round him,
attentively leaning the way a dog's head does
when it is particularly curious or hungry.
Tools hope for use; metal hungers for occupation.
The greatest insult equipment is ever asked to bear
is that of being made merely decorative.
The souls of wagon wheels and oxen plows die
when planted in flower beds to be leaned on and seen.
Perhaps they sense that here is a man who
does not care if they are ever swans
but seeks to use them as they long to be used--
to make them gleam only if their purpose
is to be sharpened. So they follow him
like strange ducklings hoping to grow back
into their capable ugly duck selves
once more.