A slack-jawed shifting spanner
A yellow tape measure
that pulls out stiffly
and won't retract
A small white pill
A fishing knife, stain-blotched wood,
line of triangular fangs
A piece of heavy wire bent into a hook
The key to a long-lost lock
Pliers and wire-cutters,
red vinyl grips worn dull
by years of hands
A seven-sided Irish silver coin
dating from the year I left home
A wrench
whose name I don't know
A World War Two Australian penny,
verdigris film on wide brown disc,
an unshot kangaroo, the head
of a long-dead king
A new set of screwdrivers,
square-heads, sealed
in their blister pack
A sturdy green-handled Phillips ...
The Honeymoon Screwdriver!
(Did little me name it?)
Translucent golden resin handle
fifty-years-later smooth
Nothing in this torn carton
will help me dig out the stubborn screw
inside his left-behind closet,
release the mildewed shelf
I have to get in a man
with corded forearms
like my father
used to have
First published in Westerly 67.1, July 2022
Jackson 