Hammers Away Poem by aMan Bloom

He’d never built a house before
But I was new and couldn’t tell
watched him big trees fell and awaited my chores
with bright delight. Stainless-steel shank
covered in sky-blue rubber pocked with holes for sweat and grip
and a head that would make a lady weep
32-ounces of sweeping might sets a nine-penny flush in a single stroke
once the bloke caught on, got the swing with grace and aplomb
always by his side, swinging in my holster, ready to strike,
to pound or chop, wrangle or pry, I am humble hammer,
god of nails, icon of carpentry, champion of tools, lure of destiny
and built him his first home, of redwood, fir and pine.

My history is elegant. I started out before nails as stone, or knot and branch of tree,
then copper, so soft and full of sheen, though only fit for driving pegs,
brass cracks, iron shatters, steel, ah, steel, she holds her form and yields only force.

We modern ones, hardened and shaped, honed, balanced,
almost a fattened wedge on a solid chain, flying through unresisting air
with the power of a sledge, of thunder, an avalanche of directed energy!
The nail, the spike, the drift almost whimpering at my whistling approach…

One day, resting in the back of a recycled Mustang convertible
bought at the cost of eight good hammers for the rot that took its spine away,
top down, spiraling down Fickle Hill, hitting bumps at speed, the fool,
I fell through a rusty hole big as a raccoon,
and so became another’s tool.

xxx