The Man Store

The saws and drills and siding for men are unloaded by men from trucks built by men and driven by men. Thingmakers produce carbon copies, Schlage silver keys numerous as the manclones who spawn from Chevy and Ford (Chevy and Ford, Chevy and Ford), obese waddles through extra wide lane lines, a destiny of weekend convergence.
 
Homeowner pride reaps concrete rationalization, women and children not allowed unless the bestowed blessing of not asking questions is dealt like a card.  
Shouldn’t there be a sign for that too? Mutters someone…
“All going to plan” means a loss of time back home as the circular saw fires up, blasting cap minds still lost in dreams of the place.
 
It’s a 21st century anesthesia pull-tab place,
With zipties to keep his family disgraced.
Particle board rot under piped in woodshop fumes,  
He is high on 10% power and what needs to be done.
 
Monsters exist! See him tear into plastic with demontartar teeth.
Shop rags cover oil spills while he pounds in place,
The state of affairs remain fixed with the right tools,
 
And he always has the right tool.
 
It’s not that much longer until next Saturday. Countdown from job, kids, wife  
Or just cross off the list “To Do” and it always comes like a leap day. Doppelgangers march  
To the beat of industry.
 
If asked why, he calls it a man store because it is.