O table saw!
I can’t give you away it seems.

Since we grew to be such friends
under a blue tarp last September,
cutting custom
jambs
for the ones I kicked out,
your dusty blade keeps returning.

I thought I’d made
a present of you.
Now I’m pleased to find
two of your kin in the entry hall
waiting for the next
season of cutting things
up, of starting hungry teeth
to do their whirling work,
incorporated in my hands.