She stood under the eaves of a shed,

door open, inviting him in.

"This was his world, everything has to go," she said.

 

"There's a light switch somewhere."

Then he peered about.

Everything exactly as it had been left.

 

Chests of tools, walls pegged for ready access.

A woodwork bench with vices.

Racks of chisels - the smell of linseed oil.

 

Cabinets with escutcheons in brass.

Transistor radio, roof trusses stacked with labelled planks.

A lathe as solid as a battleship docked.

 

Behind a patina'd window a chestnut tree, spared the axe.

A corner chair, made in the shop with snug cushion,

a photo of the family pinned up,

 

him stripped to the waist - good biceps.

 

The man had arrived on time, said little,

making her feel ill at ease.

A practised eye like an undertaker.

 

The moment of truth arrived and went.

"Any original boxes for these tools?" he pondered.

"I don't think so, no," she said.

 

"Makes a big difference to resale values," he said.

Pressed a card on her with a quote on the back.

"Give me a ring any time." he smiled.

 

She noticed he needed dental treatment,

heard the engine of the van as it started,

and with a hand that seemed to belong to someone else

filled the kettle as she watched him go.