Saturday light through the garage door screen

Dust hanging slow in the cutting beams

Radio talking low beside the wall

Toolbox open on the workbench top

Small hands reaching for a socket wrench

He slid the smaller one across instead

Grease stains dark against his faded shirt

Both of them quiet while the old truck worked

Things he fixed

Never stayed broken long

Loose boards, screen doors, old headlights

Anything the weather worked on

He never said much

Just showed up every day

And somehow over all those years

That was enough to stay

Summer heat sitting heavy on the drive

Extension cord stretched out beside the side

He checked the oil while the boy swept floors

Evening light falling across the doors

Winter came and then the spring returned

Same workbench and the same slow turn

Hammer hanging where it always was

Coffee rings drying beside the gloves

Things he fixed

Took time and steady hands

Bent nails, porch steps, leaking pipes

Whatever life let wear down again

Nothing ever flashy

Nothing anybody’d praise

Just ordinary things held together

One long year at a time that way

Then one night after the hardware closed

He carried a sleeping child from the truck home

Paused a second by the bedroom light

Before heading back out into the night

Things he fixed

Never made the evening news

Just worn-down days and weathered things

People stopped noticing once they held true

But every room stayed standing

Every light kept coming on

Because somewhere in the quiet

He kept working long after dawn