Rectangular labels with red borders
and white field bore hand-lettered
notes–nails, screws, bolts.
Dad stuck them to coffee cans,
full one-pound blue tin cans rinsed
free of their Maxwell House residue.
Heavy with hardware, the bits
of shaped and purposeful steel
that reproduced like workbench
dust bunnies, the cans stood
in a row on the bare wood shelf
in the basement, waiting at attention
for the summons. Find a dozen
or so finishing nails. Look for a bolt
about an inch long and a nut to match.
Then two small hands lifted
the ribbed cylinders down
from the shelves and shook them
one at a time, seasoning
the workbench with a dash
of nails, a pinch of nuts and bolts.

Now coffee comes in white paper cups
with recycled brown sleeves
or opaque and resealable bean bags.
Where will we store our sorted bits
of hardware, when there are no more
one-pound coffee cans?

David M. Frye
April 25, 2009
Denton, Neb.