Week to Week, Day to Day, Hour to Hour

Fingers aching as the body ages
Breaking rocks all day

Have a few pints and melt into the couch
Strive to still awake
Some Metal asked for from the machines;
vulgar, primal, grinding
the harmony.

A hand stretching from the ooze
Half the face surfaces to see the morning sky
 To suck in a breath, before being dragged back down under
   To struggle on, to be thankful for the air
   That merciful Creator.

Morning arrives with the machine making the coffee
A timer indeed.
The children break from their slumber to stir me
The cubs are still young

Overjoyed for air.