It Lives Again

Knuckles cut, gouged and bleeding.
My mouth and lungs filled with dust.
Grease, paint and rust adorn my skin.
Sweat and dirt mingle on my forehead.

The acrid smell of spray paint fills my nostrils.
Old knees and joints grumble in protest.
I ignore as best I can, so much still to do!
I continue, thinking I wish I'd never started.

As the grinder takes another little bit of flesh away I swear.
I wrap insulating tape round it, no time to tend it properly.

Must crack on! Must crack on!

Sockets and Spanners are scattered like silver fish on a dry bed of concrete.
A small clearing remains. This is where I toil.

I pull another metal spine from my arm.
Odd how I don't feel them go in but wince when removing them.
Still! I persist, it won't complete itself!
Nearly there now will it be worth the pain, the blood and the exertion?

Probably not, probably unappreciated. The effort and attention to detail lost on its future recipient.

Everything tidied away and everything is in place.
It is nourished with oil and fuel,
Every moving part greased and tested.

I stand looking at it thinking

"hello pretty"

One finger of one hand poised above the button, the fingers on the other hand crossed.

!Now is the moment of truth!

It splutters and coughs at first,
Cogs that have not turned for years now. remember what they used to be.

It turns and turns but it will not breathe

Then it shoots a flame as unspent fuel is burned away.
Something fires inside and It roars into life,

It lives again.