A Hard Life

I tend to the milling machine everyday,
Ensure that the draff is not thrown away,
Ensure that the parts are being cut to fit.
I stand most of the time for I struggle to sit.

The machine is located back of the yard.
It only gives trouble when weather is hard,
As pipes can fill up or a coolant can spill.
I have to be ready with wrench or with drill.

But most of the time I have just to be there,
To see to the parts, and to service the spare.
So for most of the time I'm standing around,
Always in earshot of the engine's dull sound.

And, for most of my time, my thinking is nought,
Except for the troubling, regular thought
Of ending it now with a razor or knife,
Before I am slung on the slagheap of life.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

sometimes life seems like this...just a drudgery....no chance for parole from
the hum drum boredom, thinking our life is worthless.
But it isn't....and that razor or knife needs to be put down before a rash act might be committed.
This is really a good poem and I don't understand that lack of comments.
So much good poetry on this site gets disregarded.

j.