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Brad Said -- by File

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You’ll be fixing that dripping tap right about now
You’ll have laid out your screwdriver, hammer and saw
On a torn-off piece of old linen, on the washboard
You’ll have changed into blue denim dungarees
And then you’ll have stopped

Looked at the problem
Felt the glossy metal tap head
Followed the pipe under, had a look up and in
Thought about it all over a tradesman’s cup of tea
I can almost see the crease I tease

I can smell the tea sigh that escapes you
Then you’ll suck it back in with salt
You’ll address the cold steel
With cold intention
Stiff threads, wet hands

You’ll brace yourself and strain and do it again
Then you’ll pass an arm over your brow
To your chin
“What set’s us apart from the animals?
Tools!” and you’ll finger the circuit tester with interest

But your eminently practical nature will mean that
You’ll favour the hammer
And you’ll set your self carefully before you raise back to swing
And then you’ll pause,
Cover the tap with another piece of linen

And you’ll set yourself again and coil and
Strike!
The word ‘cock’ will flash through your mind in the instant before the high pressure mains supply hits the ceiling
And you’ll be surprised at your own strength
But you’ll be too busy trying to stem it with your moisturized hands

Until you slip
I know, ‘cos we’ve laughed about it,
That you’d sink rather than call me
For help

Picking through yellow leaves
Flicking through the P’s; painter, plasterer, plumber
Smiling, as the bell rings

“Darling?”
And I’m keening and ready

“Oh, you’ve done it! Well done!”

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