he spent 6 weighty hours
wrestling with the storm door
[i had been quietly asking for one for years]
he could have easily used up the
precious time
catching up on pressing work.
The bitter end of Autumn
biting at his finger tips
screws and bolts
falling out of his pockets
I bet he unhinged
and rearranged
and measured
and drilled
that door of metal and glass
three or four
different times
until it was
just right.
I heard grunts and tired sighs
but not a single slip
of complaint
or the rare appearance of profanity
[no one is perfect]
He came in
long after darkness fell
His cheeks roughed and reddened
by the harsh wind
He had finished the job
and as i stared at him
i knew I was looking
love
in the
face.
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