Fixing the gutter, eaves, and a bit of the roof.

i gently remove
the aluminum casing
from old boards clad
in their crackled paint
undershirts.

reminds me of my grandfather
in his shop unshaven
muttering
at his favorite bandsaw
making wooden clocks in the shape of minnesota.

the paint is thick
like the detritus
generations of squirrels
have packed among the hollows
of the eaves
the only ones still appreciating
the little glitz of the 1929 trim

my father-in-law
comes over and my little son
with his imaginary nail-gun
gives his own advice.
we study this half-rotten riddle
together
going over all the work
of old men
scrappy beasts and
rainwater.