Jim, my neighbor, 
is the village Sam Elliot, 
hair as thick as a horse’s mane 

and gray like a January day. 
He doesn’t have a mustache, 
but his cigar replaces the vacancy, 

floating in white clouds above his mouth. 
Circles of sweet smoke 
travel distances 

like a Sioux medicine man. 
He can heal trucks, cars, rider mowers, 
and he can tell you exactly 

why your “check engine” light is on. 
He can transform an old church pew 
into an Adirondack Chair, 

and when the sun drapes its final 
pleats of golden cellophane 
around his shed, you’ll find him sitting in it, 

quiet and meditative. 
Some Keep the Sabbath 
going to church, 

he keeps it 
listening to the yawn of day 
as it drifts away. 

At night, he conjures, 
hidden in his shed like a warlock. 
Fireflies spit from its little chimney. 

A welding chainsaw band 
jams 
until the tune is right. 

One cold night, 
my cat got out 
and headed to his shed. 

I chased her to the door. 
He opened it holding a white box 
full of little colorful bricks. 

I apologized for interrupting him. 
No worries, he said, with a big smile. 
I’m just playing with my Legos. 

Nancy Byrne Iannucci

is a poet whose works appear in 34 Orchard, Bending Genres, Eunoia Review, Maudlin House, and THRUSH Poetry Journal, among others. And she’s the author of four chapbooks: Temptation of Wood (Nixes Mate Review, 2018), Goblin Fruit (Impspired, 2021), Primitive Prayer (Plan B Press, fall 2022), and Hummingbirds and Cigarettes (Bottlecap Press, 2024).

Author’s website: https://www.nancybyrneiannucci.com