Note: I have written a number of poems about tools as, having been a craftsman most of my life, I see many tools becoming either obsolete or re-purposed. Such a poem is "Coal Shovel."
You can purchase one from the internet—
where you can find almost any old thinking—
aluminum or steel blade, both D-handled,
though they are not much good for burying
what wants or has to be buried.
You can often find chunks of coal
around old houses, glistening
under back porches or in window wells.
It once seemed a necessity as horses once were,
but unlike horses that have earned their luxury,
coal is of the past, is dirty, a kid’s curiosity.
It is more of a scoop for landscape mulch,
for removing raccoon, opossum roadkill,
for raking fallen walnuts into
before the season’s last mowing—
labor needs no tool, but what lessens it.
The new ones are called #2 poly grain shovels
as if everyone has a few fancy horses out back
snorting, hungering for some sense of purpose.
© 2019 Frederick Wilbur
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