Locked down in the Manshed 3. A poem by Eamonn Fitzgerald

This weekend,
I will mostly be in my ManShed.
Sitting on a well worn stool
Looking at the rain
Leaking from the gutter
Dropping on the path
Rapping on the door.
I’ll sharpen all my tools
And carve myself a distraction.
Who knows, I might
Even tidy up a bit.
Avoiding bureaucracy
And smalltalk.
Socially distant
Yet present.


I own a Manshed where I make stuff and think about stuff.

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