To scratch paper sketches;
Pantries and problems;
Resultant conundrums of a material world.
High pressure tactics,
Pushy sales person
Running up tickets,
And, of course, technical expertise.
What they don’t expect,
Is a Home Depot holy man.
An orange apron-ed mystic,
Offering solutions to drywall dilemmas.
Who studies the cracks in foundations,
Listens to camouflage
overlying faint cries of despair.
How do I build a stairway of sincerity?
Tall as a tower, shining steps rising
Above the crippling contrariness of my life?
What manner of steel is so stain-less,
To weather the corrosion of my debaucheries,
To anchor my heals in righteous construction,
So Heaven someday may be within reach?
What padding can be so resilient,
To keep disappointment from scorching my ass,
Dragged through the coals of work-a-day world?
Flat on my bum, one foot entangled,
Eternally caught in the crux
Of life’s bottom rung?
Where do I find the cheapest fix,
To patch this hole in my heart,
Out through which my humanity bleeds?
Welcome to the Depot, he replies.
Mirrors, aisle seven.
Poetry by SS Matthews