My neighbor thought of himself
as an inventor.
That was why he never held on to a job.
He worked on the machine
he figured would make his fortune
for two years.
He told me what it did,
at least. What was it supposed to do?
Something about pipes and swivel bolts,
beckets, and cotter pins.
It made no sense to me.
He complained about the banks
that wouldn't lend him money
and the wife who left him,
"Because the woman had no vision."
When it was finally ready,
he took it from factory to factory.
At first, it was his gift to the world.
At the end, just a child
in need of a good home.
It ended up back in his garage
for, as he put it,
"A little tweaking."
He tweaked for ten years or more.
I'd often see him
in his backyard,
grass uncut,
garden overgrown,
but still fiddling with his masterpiece.
But he never gave up on himself.
Perseverance was his greatest invention.
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An Ode to the Inventor
by John Grey
John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident who recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly, and Lost Pilots. The latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert”, and “Memory Outside the Head”, are available through Amazon. Work is upcoming in California Quarterly, Seventh Quarry, La Presa, and Doubly Mad.
