The Tin Shop

The Tin Shop never sounded tin
it sounded canaries;
because of the Great Depression
no one wanted eaves
but everyone wanted canaries.

It became the place where
we changed skates
sharpened them
traced out our initials
on the floor,
sipped cocoa.

The Tinsmith bred canaries
that lived in tin apartments
elaborate as palaces
spacious and filling all
the upper air
with communal sopranos.

The Tin Shop never sounded tin
it became a meeting place
for men
displaced workers
all their strength now
gone into those deep voices
vibrantly disaffected
politically haranguing
words / scored as deeply
in the wooden floors as
our skate blades.

The canaries sang and moulted
a world of yellow.
The men’s words, strong,
bedevilled, are they in the
end gone like the
songs and the feathers?

Colleen Thibaudeau, 1984

“The Tin Shop” first appeared in The Martha Landscapes (1984) and is also included in The Artemesia Book (1991), both available from Brick Books.

( ( ( 0 ) ) ) Listen to Steve Peters, the current owner of the Tin Shop, read Colleen Thibaudeau’s poem.