NaBloPoMo prompt for the day:
What was the last thing you fixed or built?
I don’t think I’ve ever built anything, and I can’t remember the last time I fixed something.
Oh, yes, the last things I remember fixing, or trying to fix, were misfeeds in various printers. Does that count?
The last thing I really remember fixing, or trying to fix, was the lock mechanism of a lock on my bedroom door in our house on Alto Road, about 1990.
It was one of those old locks, at least 100 years old. It looked like this:
I don’t remember if I fixed it, or what happened to it, but I did write a poem about it, with the usual overtones of a metaphor:
Fixing the Lock
Lock broken after years of use.
Removed from the wrench of the door
slim, tarnished as a cigarette box.
Brass, flat, it sat in the wood
like a coin in the eye of the dead.
Unscrewed from its long residence,
entirely slipping out into hand
like a secret passageway opening
smooth,silent, dust in the grease.
Six small screws loosened, removed,
clotted with timedust, oil, doordust.
Brass box opens, shows
springs, clips, buds of metal
now to the blind repair,