Ode to a Repairman’s Voice
I’m a wimp
so I hid in my room.
I only heard his voice
as he repaired the gas in the kitchen.
“How’s it looking?” Dad asked.
The warm tenor of his voice responded:
“It’s looking good.”
He’d been working outside
for the past forty-five minutes
Switching out the old tank
for a shiny new one.
Out the window
I had caught a glimpse:
Honey-brown hair
on a well-toned figure.
I heard the smile in his voice,
as he puttered around
Chatting with Dad,
and a good-natured laugh.
I couldn’t see his face,
but his voice said enough.
The even, cheerful inflections
evoked a reassuring sense.
Maybe it’s in his nature
to avoid a mournful tone.
Or maybe it’s his custom
as a professional serviceman.
Whatever the reason,
he did himself proud.
He gave simple hope
to yet another uncertain home.
After a thorough check
he pronounced the stove good.
He took off again
in his forest green truck.
No doubt in his future plans
was to do it all again--
Bestowing his particular skills
to many a waiting household.
Day after day,
he’d fix pipes, tanks, and stoves
Bringing a positive vibe
in his undulating tone.
Does he love his work
This nameless, tireless saint?
One can’t say for sure
Only that he smiles a lot
and, after all, it is his job.