Uncle Jack
Uncle Jack was a carpenter
who could make a hammer
hum a low and moaning rhythm.
That summer he was finishing off
the attic or so
Aunt Rose and I believed and
from the kitchen we heard
the saw whining into the
wet knots of pine and
the hammers even hum.
At suppertime Aunt Rose
would walk on legs
of heavy purple to the
base of the stairs and call out
JACK
nothing more.
Until one day he didn't come
and when there was no
steam rising from the mashed potatoes
she looked at me.
As I opened the attic door the
breeze stirred sawdust into the
line of light from above and
the smell of pine made
sticky air.
At the top of the stairs I
found he'd been fooling us
Aunt Rose and I.
Uncle Jack had used the
pine planks and beams to
build a gallows and
now was swinging free but
I still hear the hammer.
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