Ode to Dresser Drawers: A Love Song

by Parker Logan 
      The directions don’t match the parts
and I hammer wrong sides of wood
      to wrong sides of pieces. My thumb licks 
splinters. Each nailing and reworking,
      each mistake throws the body together
like a half baked book report on Babbit.
      Bits blow off the edge, run under
tables, hide from my spews with the mice.
      Even they fear my banging.
I turn stripped screws through particle boards,
      I make legs for it to stand, a shape
to hold itself up. But where will it go,
      this chest of drawers built on fumes,
this rickety frame with one arm
      on the cross? How will it stand knowing
it bares roses dead in vases, pictures
      fading in light? When will it find a shovel
and bury itself from me and 
      hide in a hole filled with old poems--
Yeats, Poe, and White. I need more than
      a hammer to nail this together. I need
a home to keep it in, a corner 
      to place it in. I need someone to share it 
with, to tell me to fix it when the wheels 
      leave the latch, when it no longer opens.
I need you-- to help me when my hands
      splinter hard. To uncover it
from the dirt. To find it working.
      To help it stay put in a house, our house,
the one we’re still building, on dirt
      and lava, waiting to blow up.