The Blue Screwdriver Poem by Gordon R Menzies

In its hollow handle
Robertson and Philips
still rattle and battle
with every determined
turn of my wrist, this
precious tool, made
for my hand alone
clear blue plastic
like grandfather's eyes
scratched and worn
reliable steel dulled
by passing years, and
the unending neediness
of fondly remembered
apartments and houses
where it and I have
done the work of men
scattering heavy bits
in the palm of my hand
like bones of divining
calling fortunes on
my labour, standing
fast before the work
driving and drawing
holding fast the pieces
of our lives as surely
as your mother's smile
pinned the days together
a mighty gift from the
little boy who made me
a father, on the day
they say belonged to me
the day I stood erect
with a spine of steel
tool user, and father