Dad, Sawdust and Curled Shavings

Creation from his thoughts - a hobby.
An inventor - free time, carpenter-full time.

Woodwork; curled yellow shavings
in a heap on the cellar floor -
pinned in play on my blonde hair.

The whiff of Prince Albert;
his pipe spiraled smoke at rest in the tray.
From him, radiated the slight
aroma of Old Spice After Shave.

Wild apples were scrunched by his homemade press.
Sweet cider dribbled out one end, the smell
of fruit juice pungent as it was bottled.

Dusty books, pages stuck together with mold,
Songs - the Irish tenor’s high-spirited glee
rang out after a few heady beers.
These things I remember about him.

But mostly that he was a quiet, gentle man;
content in the hush as he read,
at ease in the shop as he worked,
always ready to answer questions from a little girl.

Copyright ©2005 by Helen V. Lundt