Thursday, 9 October 2008

Graft

He turned to face the morning sun
pouring metal into the valley.

For one moment more
he ignored the gravity
of a chiming bell
and the clenched fist
holding him captive
to the awkward tools of his trade.

Through to the tired bone
the company chain cuts him so hard
corks his breath so tight
that he cannot cry out
or run.
_________
Prompted by National Poetry Day and it's theme this year, of work, I was thinking about how lucky I am to be able to do a reasonable "day job" and to still have energy left over to pursue other things. It's a juggling act a lot of the time, but such simple pleasures are not available to all. I am grateful for mine.