Thread

I often wish that I were farther along,
Resenting the circuitous route and the slow progress
That sometimes does not seem like any progress at all.

I rarely stop to consider the merits of a screw,
Or the reason for its precise threads
And grooved head.

Life is not soft material, easily drawn together with a nail,
And held fast by a couple of good strokes with a hammer.
Life is hard and slippery and resistant to our mechanizations.
It will not be fashioned into a cheap fence or pair of saw horses.

Our lives must be anchored by a handful of carefully chosen joints,
Drawn together by a twisting fate.


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