by Paul Hostovsky
For all his bluster
there was a sweetness
of surrender about him
that rose up like a shrug
when he rested from being right
the way the bulldozers and backhoes
at a construction site at dinnertime
are all finally perfectly still
the tines of their buckets
pointing upward from the ground
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This poem has such a lovely tone to it. The assonance of the long “I” sound is effective in evoking the quiet isolation of the construction vehicles. The echoes in the image of them — tines of dinner forks; plants growing from the ground — are so subtle and resonant. Like the uncle described, the poem seems to sweetly shrug. Well done.