I looked down and saw <br />Those Cadillac hands— <br />Those John Deere hands— <br />Hands that built and wrenched and worked <br />Hands that played and loved <br /> <br />My granddad’s hands— <br />A father’s hands— <br />A husband’s <br />A son’s <br />A farmer’s hands <br /> <br />A lot was built with those hands <br />Years and decades <br />A lot was fixed with those hands <br />Cars and trucks <br />Trailers and wagons; tractors and implements <br /> <br />A welder’s hands <br />A mechanic’s hands <br />A man’s hands <br /> <br />Who can know the work of a man— <br />The life of a man— <br />The value of a man? <br /> <br />I reached down and touched <br />Those Cadillac hands— <br />Those John Deere hands— <br />Those clay-like hands— <br />Those lovely hands <br /> <br />I hope that mine will be as useful... <br />...and that mine will be as valued <br /> <br />He was born and buried on November First— <br />The span of eighty-two years <br /> <br />A man in a clean John Deere 3320 lowered <br />The concrete lid over the interment site <br /> <br />The deceased would have smiled<br /><br />Jeff Gangwer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-cadillac-hands/
