The Sign of a Carpenter.(Poem)

 
The Sign of a Carpenter 
 
   The doors, oak. No, pine stained to oak. 
   This neighborhood, commuter neighborhood, 
   quick-build houses for the new middle class, 
   people working the factory line at Michoud 
   making the shuttle's external tank. 
   Their doors might hang slightly aslant-- 
   sloppy planing--molding and door guards 
   to close the gaps top or bottom, gaps also 
   along fascia and soffit: a rookie clumsy 
   with Skil saw and tape measure. 
   The Shakers make chairs worthy of angels, 
   and that's what my boss Joseph 
   the master carpenter taught me--didn't matter 
   if the quarter-inch plywood might never see ...