So Out-Of-Place

The study floor is littered
with paraphernalia of
another existence, one

where I placate the
mechanical man in my
soul. Cordless drill, 24volt

monstrosity used in heavy
construction, lies at my
feet, next to a tool chest,

surrounded by newspapers
opened at a page advising
how to get Windows Vista

& Office 2007 for just
$27 each. That life is out
of reach. Even the dogs in

the baskets know it; one looks
at me with sad sympathy,
as if to say – write your poem,

get on with the day. Maybe
I will, and maybe I’ll clean
this room – provided there

is nothing more my love
wishes done, like another
inside lock on another door.

Unlike my aspirations, these
tools look so out-of-place
on the study room floor.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-01-23