Saturday, July 5, 2014


by Stephen Anderson

No easy task this
Cleanup of basement workbench
Full of multifarious clutter,
Dusty mementos of hand-me-downs.

The real chore is in tossing the
Handmade tools my father
Crafted as a machinist under
The final shadows of WW II
And the scraped-up pale-blue tackle box
Full of Lazy Ikes, Bombers, Jitterbugs,
River Runt Spooks, and
Hula Poppers.

A simple matter on the surface
But what’s not seen is
The slippery thought of
Letting go of steel craft and memories,
Lovingly bequeathed as if

They were brothers whose being
I’m now releasing like unwanted
Fish, letting them drop from my hands
To the trash bin below, letting them go

While I suppress a traitor’s smile,
Great Judas at the workbench, a son
Not much more than an ingrate
Who will probably keep only the tackle box
In the end.

~ originally appeared in Fox Cry Review