HANK (by Cliff Yates)

for Brendan Cleary

Woke up this morning in Arizona,
a filling station on the highway,
under someone’s pick-up, dismantling the gearbox
which is a joke
because I’m the kind of bloke
who starts looking for the left-handed hammer.

My name is Hank, I smoke roll-ups,
call you ‘Bud’ and have a wife called Gloria
who hangs endless items of clothing
on the washing line out front
when she’s not in the kitchen
singing along to Country and Western
on the radio.

Men just turn up and say, ‘How’s it going Hank?’
I hammer repeatedly on the silencer
pretending I can’t hear,
hoping they will go away
and thinking, ‘Who the hell is this?
What does he know
about me that I don’t know?’

I inspected the washing, worked out
that we have eight children
between two and sixteen. Also,
judging from the patches
on the jeans and shirts
and the state of repair of the house,
we’re not rich. And, judging from the way
I’m going at this gear box with a monkey wrench,
not likely to be.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.