yard sale

your wife sold me your toolbox

aged Craftsman three-drawer classic

perfectly dented and rusty

heavy with assorted tools

 

she wouldn’t take more than $20

said you were a small-engine mechanic

who would want it to be used

(I assured her it would be treasured, too)

 

sold me a pair of cufflinks, too,

admiring, I asked if there were more

she just chuckled

while your daughter smiled

 

said, “No,” the only fancy things

were Christmas gifts

he probably never wore them

you just take them now

 

today, under a bright blue sky

I gave the lawnmower a tune-up

changed the oil, replaced a cable

child’s play for you, I’m sure

 

without even trying

I found the 13/16ths sparkplug socket

right where it should be

exactly where you left it

 

I’m sure you weren’t

the kind of man

who wrote poems about oil changes

(and certainly not about cufflinks)

 

I just wanted you to know

it was a beautiful day

in the neighborhood