Working Hands and tools He came and he measured –
Nice chap, fair price.
On the fitting days he started early
Got by on cups of tea and bourbons
Now a whistle
Then a song
“Floor’s not even”
But he says it with a wink
And the furrows on his face
Dance a little

On the last day
He works late
Screws, glue, hinges, sawdust
Sweeping and sighing he says
“Need to pack this in”
I ask, “What does retirement hold?”
He looks at his cabinets
Tilts his head, thinks
Grins like a tiger
“Fitting kitchens” says he.

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