Hobby Harbor

by Mary Ann Taylor, on competence

Is there more swagger entering Harbor Freight

than Hobby Lobby?

The banks of carabiners—all sizes and colors—

No more tools than this year’s flowers—silks and dried

In tall black tubs—row by row.

   Binders?

Hot glue guns

Soldering irons

  Canvas?

Stretched for painting

Loose for protecting

Cutters, sealers, good lights,

Magnetic screw/pin holders.

One day, a selection of sawblades

Arrayed before me as I tested hefts and holds,

A man shopping for replacement hacksaw blades

Found the day’s deal, a 10-pack on for $2.99,

But he stayed, looking at me, and asked,

“What are you doing?”

That took some courage, I thought.

So I explained my project, the current situation.

He stood silent a second or two, then asked,

“You know what you’re doing?”

Beyond courage there.

I nodded, said “Sure,”

And without pausing this time, he asked,

“Let me see your hands.”

He just looked, didn’t touch, while I explained

This scar from batting a kid away from danger,        

That, electric nail gun. No missing fingers, I joked.

Working hands. Callouses, honestly earned.

He nodded, said, “Hmmm. Good job”

And walked away.

I see how I might have been offended. “Competent?”

I wouldn’t have asked him what he was doing if I found him

In the beading supplies at my other haunt.

It’s good to know two worlds, two lingos, two how-tos—

Neither better, both fraught.

A good pride, I hope, when I have proven worthy

And turn to making moons.