The Carpenter's Lament

Either the poem is finished or the poem is very close. Because I am revising an older poem, I don't have a sense of discovery, there has been no moment of clarity.

I feel like a carpenter, going back into a house months after the project was completed, working through a punch-list. The owner is glaring at me and I'm trying to pretend she isn't.

I'm the guy whistling in the corner, tapping at the wainscotting.

Pay no attention to me.