American Made

I eased through the neighborhood this morning…

the wind pulled on the plastic widows of the Jeep

finding its way onto my exposed neck.

The leaves raced each other across the street

bouncing across the surface of the concrete,

singing in chirps with every contact of the road.

In a bend in the road… filled with cars parked

were tables in a driveway, overflowing.

People moved about… unaware of each other.

I was drawn to the activity…

I pulled to the side, my Jeep still cold inside

and I prepared for the chill…

There were piles of children’s clothing in a mass.

Plastic cups and used china held one table.

Toys of a forgotten time stood in a tumbled coil.

A broken wagon, a worn out mower

and the people dispersed without speaking.

The owner sat-huddled in a kitchen chair,

a scarf over her head… scanning her customers.

I spoke to her eyes with mine… with a smile.

I said it was early and she said it was cold.

Her daughter came to her with a basket full to add,

representing bits of money spent in the past…

A hope of small change today from 7 until 1…

I saw a shine under a red shop rag…

A wrench… a big one… and my heart raced.

I don’t need it, but it was beautiful, sitting there,

A quality Crescent tool… American made.

I held it toward her with anticipation.

It was mine for a small price

and my lady a new friend.

My wrench held its spot in the front seat for now.

The metal cool from outside air but soon to be warm.

It will join the other tools soon enough

with a story of its beginning.

                                                Shannon R Killman