Holes in the Theory

His rhythmic strikes,
and dawn’s harsh glare
arrive at once,
a shrill alarm.

Relentlessly,
he hammers,
plumbs,
exposing crumbs
of wood and grubs.

His point is clear:

how sharp of him
to make it so precisely,

at facade’s expense.

Author: Barbara Froman

Writer, musician, retired college and university professor. View All Posts

Silver Screenings says:

March 16, 2020 at 5:03 pm

Fabulous! I love this piece.

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1. Barbara Froman says:
  
  March 16, 2020 at 5:24 pm
  
  Thank you! I’m honored!
  
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pedometergeek says:

February 29, 2020 at 7:05 pm

Beautiful poem, Barbara. Is that your photo, too?

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1. Barbara Froman says:
  
  February 29, 2020 at 7:06 pm
  
  Thank you, Nan. No, I found it on one of the public domain sites. 🙂
  
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