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
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.