Ode to a Repairman’s Voice

I’m a wimp

so I hid in my room.

I only heard his voice

as he repaired the gas in the kitchen.

“How’s it looking?” Dad asked.

The warm tenor of his voice responded:

“It’s looking good.”

He’d been working outside

for the past forty-five minutes

Switching out the old tank

for a shiny new one.

Out the window

I had caught a glimpse:

Honey-brown hair

on a well-toned figure.

I heard the smile in his voice,

as he puttered around

Chatting with Dad,

and a good-natured laugh.

I couldn’t see his face,

but his voice said enough.

The even, cheerful inflections

evoked a reassuring sense.

Maybe it’s in his nature

to avoid a mournful tone.

Or maybe it’s his custom

as a professional serviceman.

Whatever the reason,

he did himself proud.

He gave simple hope

to yet another uncertain home.

After a thorough check

he pronounced the stove good.

He took off again

in his forest green truck.

No doubt in his future plans

was to do it all again--

Bestowing his particular skills

to many a waiting household.

Day after day,

he’d fix pipes, tanks, and stoves

Bringing a positive vibe

in his undulating tone.

Does he love his work

This nameless, tireless saint?

One can’t say for sure

Only that he smiles a lot

and, after all, it is his job.