one eye on the pattern
a pause of the foot pump
the rapid switch of spools
she spikes a bright strand of yarn
over a shiny metal barb
on the hulking machine
like a spider on speed
her fingers blur with the threads
the well-oiled loom hums
higher pitched than the others
weaves a colorful web
reds whites and lots of blue
a flag forms and waves
on a sky’s azure background
just like last year
and so many years before
the annual fair is merely confirmation
of a peerless skill
this coverlet
like all her other winners
will find a use
it sits at home wheelchaired
and eating TV popcorn
covering and uncovering
a clawed greasy hand
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