the perfect strike can penetrate
like a knife though table butter
but with a dull axe it must be
struck parallel to the grain
chop any old way and a blunt axe
will bounce off the wood sending
vibrations down your arm that
flash red warnings in your brain
with my unsharpened axe
the blows shear off thick slivers
more like whitling yet I still
appear manly with an armful
destined for the fireplace
I have thought of sharpening it
which would make life easier
though I’ll probably use it until
the pile I carry in isn’t enough
to warm a whole evening
and with a cold face staring at
fading flames I’ll think about
how only a fool feels sorry
for a dying spark and with the
hardest and warmest burning
wood sitting in the shed
blames the axe
Comments