He dons his corduroy ‘Smith Plumbing’ hat,
Jumps into his blue pick-up, with the
Ladder racks and silver, side-mounted toolboxes,
To Sutherland’s Supply.
He buys the large, one-inch copper –
No plastic for this ole boy –
And comes back to plumb.
He taps into the aquifer,
Brings lines up from the basement,
Sweats and solders some pretty, shining fittings,
Then runs his air test.
No leaks, first time.
He bids me,
Run the water
To clean the line.
–I have high-pressure water!
I’ve tasted his old-world craftsmanship.
I’ll recommend him.
He’s got the wrenches.
Phil Flott just achieved an MFA in poetry from St Thomas in Houston. Two years ago he was published in Ravens Perch. He has also had work in Agape Review, Spirit Fire Review, Trajectory, and others.
