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POEM: Barlow Knives And Magazines

Barlow Knives And Magazines

The man in the video is holding a Barlow knife.
He has dry hands. American men have dry hands.
He’s talking about listening to his dad
and his dad’s friends
swap stories in the garage, always embelleshing.

I grew up listening to women, sometimes in the kitchen,
more often in the living room.
They also swapped stories, embellishing just like the men.
Where the men focused on deeds,
the women focused on tragedy.

The man in the video has a workbench cluttered with tools.
There are watch batteries in a package,
knives of various descriptions,
a large mallet, a pair of needle-nose pliers,
a vice grip because there is always a vice grip.

I grew up with magazines, lined up on the cedar chest.
The cedar chest that we used as a coffee table.
It was made by my grandfather, who was either
not in the room or so quiet that he might as well have been missing.
The magazines had recipes and photos of lovely, silent rooms.

The man in the video remembers watching The Lone Ranger as a kid.
He remembers having his first pocket knife as a kid, too.
He went to high school in the 70s, right around the time I was born.
One of his knives is from the bicentennial.
Another commemorates Reagan’s presidency.

I remember watching Reagan get shot on the TV.
I remember watching the pope get shot on the TV.
I remember going to the school office and my mom being on the phone.
She told me the space shuttle Challenger had exploded.
I wonder if the man in the video remembers that.

/ / /

1/1/26
Charlottesville VA

Published in My poems Poetry

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