Humming

the extent of the breath used
caught the man off guard,

and he wheezed into the silence
listening after each gasp

to hear the sound returned
in its own whispering tongue.

he turned on the lights,
and the fluorescents slowly came to life

humming into the night
monotonous songs of long hours.

he moved around work benches
slowly creaking through the time worn paths,

stopping occasionally, he picked up tools
one by one, turning them in the light

then shaking his head
shuffled over to hang them on the wall.

moving past the window
he pulled the push broom from the corner,

and fell back into the ruts of time
as he circled the benches again

clamping the handle of the broom
to his side, he guided it with his right hand.

as he was building mounds of sawdust
in the aisles, his left hand brushed the stove

banked down for the night, but still hot
he smelled the singed hair,

and leaned the broom against the counter
cursing softly, he contemplated the growing red splotch.

pulling his left hand up, with the right
he watched the blister begin to form

striding, quickly now, to the sink
he ran the paralyzed limb underneath warm water.

the acrid smell still hung in the air
as he watched the night sky from the window.

turning off the water, he hummed to himself
the long whining note of table saws,

wedging the broom under his good arm again
he gathered the piles into the middle of the floor.

returning the broom to the corner
he saw the sky grow into pale daylight

as he felt for the keys in his pocket
and unlocked the side door.

he'd always loved the store room
ate lunch there, amidst the unfinished furniture

slept there, when the snow came
and ice brought the pine trees bowing to the ground.

even once brought a woman back
a girl really, but he had been young then too

an apprentice carpenter, he'd watched the foreman
and made coffee on that same stove

swept these floors in the same meandering path
he'd just finished.

wheezing again, with the weight of recollection
he sat down heavily in a balloon back chair

and dabbed at his forehead
amidst the growing murmur of birds outside

checking his watch, he shut off the lights
and thumped down the back stairs.

locking the door behind himself
he walked across the gravel driveway

and opened cab of the pick up
using his good hand to pull himself in,

he rummaged through the glove box
finding the half full flask.

he laid it on the seat beside him
and started the truck

pinching the numb fingers
one by one, he watched the crescents fade.

they'd offered him this job
after the accident,

the foreman had come to the hospital
hat in hand, he'd seen him in the hallway

speaking softly with the nurse
and shaking his head.

he smiled when he entered,
but the wrinkles around his eyes

couldn't agree.
he must have come right from work

the smell of saw dust and wood glue
had followed him through the hospital door--

he winced, slightly, and spun the top of the flask
sipping between memories

he thought of the waiver in the man's voice--
"once you're back on your feet,

we couldn't let you operate the saws,
insurance issues and all

but we could always use an extra
set of hands."

he'd realized after the words left his mouth
and stopped talking.

collecting himself he'd started again,
"what i meant was we could bring you back on

building maintenance, and things like that,"
he tried for the smile again.

he'd spent a few months off,
sputtering around the house in fits.

drinking the way he'd seen his father drink
and harassing the neighbors in the early afternoon.

word had gotten round
mill towns are small,

and the foreman had come again
asked him to think about the job.

it was a saturday morning
and he'd started early

he'd tried to chase the foreman from his door
screaming about janitors,

and using his good hand
to shake the motionless limb in the man's face.

he had left, but put a key to the shop
on the man's kitchen table.

from the porch he called,
"i'll leave your pay on the back counter

every friday night,
as long as you come during the week."

he'd thought about it
for a couple days,

even driven down to the shop
at 2 AM and sat in the driveway

playing absently with the key
and feeling the vibration of the belt sander

in his useless arm.
finally, he'd gone inside

late at night, a few days earlier
he'd cleaned, and straightened

leaving the sawdust in a pile by the door
so the foreman knew he'd come.

tonight the envelope had been there
as promised, sitting on the back counter

but he'd left it.
he had his disability payments now,

and a pension, he'd worked for the railroads,
for a spell

his parents had left him the house
and he only kept cheap whiskey in the flask.

besides he hadn't come back the second day
because he needed cash.

he'd returned for the store room
to sit among the raw wood

and breathe the scents of cedar and pine
to watch the sun come up, and hear the birds play.

he came back the third day
because the phantom throb of power tools in his numb hand

had finally subsided
into the low hum that accompanied him now--

he twisted the cap back onto the flask
and deposited it into the glove box

dropping the truck into reverse
he backed onto the road

humming softly over the radio
he found a brief harmony

with the vibrating tone in his arm
and drove home.