Sharpened And Oiled-Poem
Got myself a Barlow.
Who knows where it’s been?
I found her unkept,
rusted,
marked by neglect—
A forgotten scrap of metal,
left in a tool-box
that’d become a crypt.
I recall the history—
A trusted companion of
West-ward seeking pioneers
and American boys.
I set out to clean,
and polish
so that it
could be put
back to work.
My “sure-enough” Barlow,
sharpened and oiled,
cuts again.