near the waterline, someone’s hammering
throughout the day, someone’s always

a staccato telegraph
of winter’s approach or gratitude
so little demands repair
or just some old goat’s survived

though when the hammering ceases
he may be eating a sandwich
or sawing a board to be hammered
yes, two taps secure its position

in the quiet, he’s
gone off to the supply house
for a another box of nails, another size
a door slams from another direction
where new hammering erupts

before the man puts his hammer down
on a leather tool belt
and then orders a beer

you’ll find boxes of hammering
in the tool shed, brown paper bags
of hammering in the mud room
old jars of hammering
on his truck bed

open any one
and his arm and shoulder
begin moving
the whole world as his anvil

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of seacoast poems,
click here.

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