Later...

He brought me wood glue.
But the drill I had to get myself.

He looked at my work.
He said, "That will not do."

He took the drill and sent me off
to search for the hammer.

It once had sat, for many, many years.
Isolated, in a box, beneath the cobwebs.

He was going to toss it.

"Waste of my money," he had said
like I had been a waste of his time.

I promised, I pleaded, I painted the base white.

But I had made a terrible mistake.
And it languished beneath the cobwebs.
A waste of his money.

Later, much later
(please, not too late)
I looked again.
No one told me to do it.

I stained the top
I varnished
I sanded
once, no twice,
now three times from scratch.
It had to be perfect.

But a part was missing.
so many questions and queries
was it a waste of his money
and a waste of my time?

The part arrived.

I painted the base purple.
I put it away.
I couldn't get it right.

It came out from under the cobwebs
and this time,
he brought me the wood glue.

The parts seemed mixed up.
"Will these do for those?" I asked.
"Oh, you're right." he said.

So, he took the drill from the table
and sent me off
to search for the hammer.

It's cracked,
the painstaking finish is already flaking.

"It's a family heirloom, already"
he said.

and he's right
this time.
Because he built me my table
right by my side.