Pull Up Bar

When I was 17 me and my brother built a pull-up bar 

next to the log cabin in our bottom field

since kidhood, dad had taught us how to knock-in posts 

with the monster we called the “Bonker”

the Bonker: a huge cylinder of cast iron 

rusted and speckled blue 

with two outpointed handles and an opening on one end

knocking in a post was simple –

someone holds the post in place

you heave the Bonker over the flat-top of the post

you lift it up to the sky like a trophy

you throw it back down again as a hammer

the other person is important

dad knocked himself out that way 

totalling his own head with the Bonker

when he pulled the great beast up

he did it on two separate days 

before the other person rule was introduced

But the posts for our pull-up bar needed to be wider

bigger

even the mighty Bonker was too small

We dug a hole before we laid the posts in

long as our arms

the ground was soft, dewy

the mud streaked up my leg

we were cold and sweating

we hit a rock larger than both my fists

we levered it out with our spades

we lifted the post up onto our shoulders 

cast it down into the hole where it thumped wetly

then the post-mix (a fast-acting concrete) 

we stabbed at it, poured half in 

shielded our lungs from the cloud it made

it was the first time we’d ever done anything like this 

on our own

my brother insisted on it

we jammed the big rock down the hole 

so it kept the post upright 

while the concrete set

a tree stump held the second post

our stomachs groaned

it was a gamble

we said it would be okay

we got lunch

It wasn’t straight

we saw the stump now 

fallen

mixing into the post-mix with the rain

we felt stupid

We dug it out

it was twice as hard 

we smashed the set sealant with a sledgehammer

we yanked the post free with the axe-head

we hid the spent concrete behind the cabin 

in a hive of nettles

no mistakes this time

slow, careful, deliberate 

and when it was done, we stood back 

admired our creation            

proud, relieved, sore

we attached the pull-up bar handle with screws

it was easy, we were laughing

my brother jumped up on the bar

heaved himself, taut biceps grinning                                                                                                                       

and pulls up eight years away 

with a job and a car and a flat in Liverpool

 and I am still 17

                                      watching him lift the earth like Atlas

                                                          stuffing the buggered concrete into the stingers

                                             waiting for dad to come home from work

and tell me

we did a fine job