The Tinkerer: Reckoning

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 The Tinkerer: Reckoning


Like that pile of scrap so many things

he wants to become, but he never graduated

from being the utility guy he was

in college ball, a cleat firm at each 

position: A Presbyterian who doesn’t 

mind the Virgin’s intercession 

time to time, milk at a local farm 

but Walmart pickup most else, commute

across state lines. Hell, even heaven and earth

both have a hold. When he finds himself 

in the splits, he tries to trust the ache

is not a tear but a long-coming loosening

like a too-tight tendon. Sometimes he 

can still see himself there, 

spitting seeds and stretching 

down the left-field line, wondering 

who he’s going to be 

today and whether there’s still 

a solid spot for such fluidity 

in the line-up card tacked over the bat-rack.


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