The poet is a woman, a 'known' poet, I do believe, and also think the poem was posted here, either in general discussion or the poetry submissions page, maybe within the last year or so.

The story in the poem is that of a woman watching a man working, maybe on blueprints, or something like that. She interrupts him, distracts him, and they make love.

Does that ring a bell for anyone?

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 08/25/2005 11:58AM by StephenFryer.

No lovemaking here, but it could be this one?

Fix-it Man
by Lisa Beatman

No more Harvard men for me.
I'm looking for a man who's good with his hands,
Swiftian repartee only goes so far,
like good pate, it remains in the parlor.

I'm ready for a man who's good with his hands,
whispered molecular theories do not jiggle my electrons,
and astrophysics over dinner does not
blast me off into space.

No, I'm looking for a man who's good with his hands,
Aristotelian logic lacks spittle,
I'm looking for a man who's not afraid
to lubricate a little, or a lot, and who knows
just how much, and how deep to go.

Yes, I'm ready for a man who's good with his hands,
a man who reads with the tips of his fingers,
toolbag slung low on his hips, who knows
his way around complicated circuitry,
and unflagging, can turn anything on.

I'm looking for a fix-it man,
fresh-smelling of sweat, not library dust,
a man with a blueprint, a man you can trust
with your plugs and your plumbing,
your heart and your head,
and as Grandma once said,
he can park his work boots,
anytime, under my bed.


Les

it reminded me of this one by Alberta Hunter :

ROUGH AND READY MAN
Alberta Hunter


Folks I'm looking for a worker …not you
I want an extra special kind
When I get the type of man I want
I know I'm gonna have a little time
Got to be ambitious, a man that loves to work
I don't want no man that's lazy, no man that tries to shirk
I want a two-fisted, double-jointed, rough and ready man
I want a hard working, no shirking, good and steady man

Now he can be a backwards farmer or a digger in a ditch
He can even drive a garbage wagon
Honey it don't make no difference which
Long as he's a two-fisted (oh please), double-jointed, rough and ready man
I want a hard working, no shirking, good and steady man

Now I don't have to have a fat man
And neither must he be too thin
And I sure don't want no guy
Got to get all pepped up on gin
And if he doesn't like soap and water
Don't let that worry you …we'll get along
But honey I want a man like Joe Louis
You know… a man that's big and strong
I want a two-fisted, double-jointed, rough and ready man
I want a hard working, no shirking, good and steady man

Now he can be knock-kneed, box-ankled
He can even have frog-eyes
But that won't make a bit of difference… if he's Ok… otherwise
I want a two-fisted, double-jointed, rough and ready man
I want a hard working, no shirking, good and steady man

When he snores I want the force to blow the bedclothes to the floor
And the breezes from his wheezes to knock the padlock off the door
When I come home some morning all dressed up like Esther's horse
I want him to grab me and tear all of my clothes, just to let me know who's boss
I want a two-fisted, double-jointed, rough and ready man
I want a hard working, no shirking, good and steady man

I want a man who won't let his children play with neither dog nor cat
But will drag in a skunk or a lion and say
"Here, you kids, play with that"

I want a two-fisted, double-jointed, rough and ready man
Is that clear to you?
Rough and ready man

The Thief

What is it when your man sits on the floor
in sweatpants, his latest project
set out in front of him like a small world, maps
and photographs, diagrams and plans, everything
he hopes to build, invent or create,
and you believe in him as you always have,
even after you set your coffee down
and move toward him, to where he sits
oblivious of you, concentrating
in a square of sun --
you step over the rulers and blue graph-paper
to squat behind him, and he barely notices,
though you're still in your robe
which falls open a little as you reach
around his chest, feel for the pink
wheel of each nipple, the slow beat
of his heart, your ear pressed to his back
to listen -- and you are torn,
not wanting to interrupt his work
but unable to keep your fingers
from dipping into the ditch in his pants,
torn again with tenderness
to the way his flesh grows unwillingly
toward your curved palm, toward the light,
as if you planted it, this sweet root,
your mouth already an echo of is shape --
you slip your tongue in his ear
and he hears you call him away
from his work, the angled lines of his thoughts,
into the shapeless place you are bound
to take him, over the bridges of bone, beyond
borders of skin, climbing over him
into the world of the body, its labyrinth
of ladders and stairs -- and you love him,
with equal measures of expectancy
and fear and awe, taking him with you
into the soft geometry of the flesh, the earth
before its sidewalks and cities,
its glistening spires,
stealing him back from the world he loves
into this other world he cannot build without you.

Dorianne Laux

Also by Laux:

The Shipfitter's Wife

I loved him most
when he came home from work,
his fingers still curled from fitting pipe,
his denim shirt ringed with sweat
and smelling of salt, the drying weeds
of the ocean. I'd go to where he sat
on the edge of the bed, his forehead
anointed with grease, his cracked hands
jammed between his thighs, and unlace
the steel-toed boots, stroke his ankles
and calves, the pads and bones of his feet.
Then I'd open his clothes and take
the whole day inside me—the ship's
gray sides, the miles of copper pipe,
the voice of the foreman clanging
off the hull's silver ribs. Spark of lead
kissing metal. The clamp, the winch,
the white fire of the torch, the whistle,
and the long drive home.

Thank you all very much for looking and for posting the great poems. I sure didn't have much to offer in the way of help! Stephen got the one I was thinking of--The Thief, Dorianne Laux. Thank you, thank you, thank you...this has been nagging at me for 2-3 weeks. Interestingly, once I knew the poet's name, I was going to look for another poem, title unknown, which turns out to be right here too, Shipfitter's Wife. Thanks again, awesome poet-people.