Trades

I WANT to be a carpenter. To work all day long in clean wood, Shaving it into little thin slivers Which screw up into curls behind my plane ; Pounding square, black nails into white boards. With the claws of my hammer glistening Like the tongue of a snake. I want to shingle a house. Sitting on the ridge pole in a bright breeze. I want to put the shingles on neatly. Taking great care that each is directly between two others. I want my hands to have the tang of wood : Spruce, Cedar, Cypress. I want to draw a line on a board with a flat pencil. And then saw along that line. With the sweet-smelling sawdust piling up in yellow heap at my feet. That is the life ! Heigh-ho ! It is much easier than to write this poem.