This is a fantastic chapbook of poems.
In Bonta's hands, the most prosaic items -- a claw hammer, a shovel, a bucket -- are elevated, their hidden humanity revealed. Every now and then he rhapsodizes about a tool which isn't strictly utilitarian -- his "Ode to a Musical Saw" offers the couplet "no longer restricted to the harsh / amens of service," which I love -- but most often he writes about the basic things you might find in an average garage workshop. The titling of these poems is surely a nod to Pablo Neruda, and the comparison doesn't go amiss.
What makes these poems work is their juxtaposition of mundane objects with breathtaking leaps of imagery. "Ode to a Compass" describes the compass as "shiny & dangerous, / a headless ballerina / with one wooden leg." Now that I've read that, I'll never see the scribing of a compass the same way. At their best, that's what these poems offer -- new eyes through which to see old and familiar things.