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poet707747


 Waiting to Exhale

Another day inside the gate, marking my life's passage here at the mill;
Without anything obvious, without an exclamation point to this moment.
Slowly the seconds continue to slip from my grasp into the sacks of minutes,
Almost wishing the seconds to tick faster; I'm at work,
Waiting to exhale.

I see the giant ball overhead gently swinging on the pendulum;
Waiting for that moment in time when my name will be it's destination.
Seeking to maim, crush, or damage my body; seeking to kill my spirit;
Only twenty minutes to buddy time; I'm at work,
Waiting to exhale.

The TCIR  appears to be a ratio of numbers without a face;
I need to maintain the vision of the reality as each injury tells a story.
With the swiftness of a nighthawk swooping in for the kill, it happens;
Someone is injured; blood is spilled; I'm at work,
Waiting to exhale.

I take safety seriously and try and stay focused in the moment;
Awareness of my surroundings as well as my body's position.
I work with a caution that sometimes seems over the top and reactive;
But the reality of my blood looks at me; I'm at work,
Waiting to exhale.

Working with a net at all times is not always enough, as chance is also involved;
My location at any given moment can define my ultimate safety.
The revolver playing Russian Roulette is at my temple; I breathe in;
I pull the trigger with smooth slow pressure, click; I'm at work,
Waiting to exhale.

I look on the horizon at the benchmarks of those that have played this game;
I intend on winning this battle of survival with all my parts on that glorious day.
Walking out that gate one final time; my days are done here at the mill;
With caution and good fortune, I made it to the end; I'm leaving work,
Waiting to exhale.

17Apr09


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