The Gorko Gazette

RAYMOND

Raymond the hired hand
Was a cook in War II

He lived in a small house
With his mother.

In the winter he pruned apple trees.
In the summer he drove a tractor
as we slowly ground the prunings.
Ditch digger, apple sorter, cider maker.
A quiet man of few words.
B’Gosh overalls, squat, broad,
And loyal.

In Italy
Once a shell fired from miles away
Made its way to Raymond

There was a bale of wool blankets
They counted the twenty three layers
Where the shell buried itself
Then went back to preparing mess.

Later in life
In the place of the bride he never met,
He bought himself a large
Pontiac Grand Am.
Cobalt Blue. Gas Guzzler.
His pride and Joy.

---

THE SHOP

One walks in and sniffs
looks longingly around
Ah they say, the great smell
of a woodworking shop.

Do I plane some aromatic cedar
before they arrive?
Create the ambience of the craftsman
elbowed deep in his craft.

I have to see things through their eyes
the eyes of my clients.
Steel wool in five pound rolls
plastic containers of dye
Mysterious cabinets of mysterious liquids
A matched set of screwdrivers hanging in a line
Tools whose functions they can’t understand

The secrets of the trade, if only they could pry.

Some wander deeper into the shop:
ancient chairs hanging high on rails
unmatched lengths of stacked wood
walnut white oak castoff bed rails
scrounged furniture parts
maple cherry purple heart pine

Ah! The power tools!
What a feast for the eye.
I bet this guy knows how to use them all.

They look well used.
planer bandsaw tablesaw jointer
All the essentials
random orbits, router bits, a lathe!

A Chocolate Factory of obscure yearnings
bursting in the hearts of the desk-bound,
the craftsman buried deeply within us all

---

about the artist

Bruce Gee Son of Bayard, middle named Bayard. Spent his life searching for the meaning of Bayard. Raised a quiver of young ‘un. No regrets.

Image generated on Stable Diffusion 2- 1

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