The Manly Arts

July 9 2012

The neighbours are building

a big garage,

2 cars

2nd story loft.

Beginning at dawn

the industrious clatter of hammer and saw

diffuse across the forest,

the lush green wall

between us.

Hard work

in cool mornings.

And the off-colour talk

of men at work,

considered commands, contagious laughter

expletives, from high in the rafters

when the hammer drops.

They have drawn

on a large circle of friends,

like an old-fashioned barn-raising.

There are trucks parked haphazardly

and men who are new to me

beetling over studs

shouldering lumber.

Who are clearly at ease with construction,

well turned out

in custom knee-pads, and tool-belts

flush with toys.

My neighbour is the kind of man

who is handy,

enthusiastic

about manual labour

good with his hands.

But it is the son

who has returned from the coast

to take charge.

Who has surpassed his dad

in the manly arts

of carpentry,

the loading of bearing walls

the soundness of joists.

How quickly the boy has grown,

now a leader of men

and his father content

to let him.

I see the pride

in his mother’s eyes,

but ambivalence, as well.

I think she feels her age

watching her husband gently displaced

by this man-child.

And though uncertain

how he learned these skills

a mother’s fierce pride.

I hammer badly,

am not to be trusted

with power tools.

So I keep out of their way

watch, amazed

this building quickly take shape

on its firm foundation,

where once there were trees

and cool wet earth.

The place he grew up

to leave,

going out into the world

to make something of himself.

A good start

for this prodigal son.

Who now has come

full circle.