Walnut and Steel
Old work-hard hands tremble
As they pass on to me a symbol
Of patriotism.
A Rite of Passage.
The old .22 rifle of my grandfather
Handed down to me.
An object of inspiration
A dream that sleeps
Dormant
Within me
Sparks and sweet-scented solvents
The din of hammers and drills
My hands long for the callusing, the wearing
Of a life of hand-work
My soul
To become a gunsmith
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