You know, says Dad, not lifting his eyes
from the vice-clamped piece of wood he is planing,
to the sound of the ripe red Kookaburra
I am bouncing and catching
on the concrete garage floor,
the way they get cricket balls worn
to just the right degree
to replace lost balls
is pretty much exactly
what you're doing.
Uh huh, I say, slipping
the slightly tarnished cherry
back in its box.
bw
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