Broke the Handle

The mattock came down wrong — I felt it catch A root or rock, the shock ran up my arms The handle cracked below the head and snapped Clean through the ash where someone carved their mark I stood there with two pieces and a hole Half-dug for nothing, post still on the ground The kind of break you can't undo or fold Back into something useful, just a sound Should have seen it — grain was off Should have seen it — checked it once Should have seen it — not enough Now do it again I strip the head off what is left of shaft The wedge comes out in splinters, not in one I've got a spare inside but nothing matched — Just hickory rough-cut, nowhere near to done I rasp it down, the fit is loose, I shim With leather from a glove I'll miss next week The head sits crooked on the new-cut limb I swing it twice — it holds, but just a freak Should have seen it — knew the crack Should have seen it — ran my thumb Right across it — didn't act Now do it again Three hours gone on what should take fifteen My knuckles split where the rasp slipped and bit This is not the day I planned, not even clean This is just the day I've got, and this is it Should have seen it Should have known Should have — doesn't matter what I should have Swing it. Go. The hole's still there I've still got three to dig