Special Orders by Edward Hirsch

 Special Orders

BY EDWARD HIRSCH

Give me back my father walking the halls

    of Wertheimer Box and Paper Company

        with sawdust clinging to his shoes.

Give me back his tape measure and his keys,

     his drafting pencil and his order forms;

          give me his daydreams on lined paper.

I don't understand this uncontainable grief.

     Whatever you had that never fit,

         whatever else you needed, believe me,

my father, who wanted your business,

     would squat down at your side

         and sketch you a container for it.

I love the clever wordplay on container... container for grief, for "whatever you had that didn't fit."  Using a piece of his father's business - container designer.  The person who would do special orders for others... but poet's own grief is "uncontainable."  

I'm focusing on the "you" in the third stanza.  It's how you'd tell a story of the father.  It's also you the reader, suggesting someone who was interested in selling, interacting with others.